Emerald & Gold
by Det. Jim Bradshaw
Summary: Abduction. Surely every Lannister knows how to do that? But when your sister is a tyrannical shrew and you are a reformed rogue, it should be at least as hard as telling her she has no choice in the matter.
1. Chapter 1

_Takes place in the beginning to middle of Feast of Crows. _

_I don't presume to own the characters; this is just a possible scenario that delves into their psyches, history and a created future. Please enjoy…_

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It was one of those rare mornings when Jaime was allowed to sneak into his sister's quarters unbeknownst to her.

He watched within the coolness of a shadow as she rose from her bed, hard pink nipples showing clearly through the thin cotton shift she sometimes wore to bed. He forced from his mind his younger brother's words about her possible lovers, knowing somewhere deep in his heart that they were probable, and portentously, that her fate, in this moment, was at his mercy. But for now he merely gazed at her, analyzing yet taking no part in the display.

She looked like an angel as she dreamt, deep green eyes hidden from all the world, a slinky cat with no claws, her tousled curls getting tangled in a cloud around her heavenly face.

Why was she so beautiful?

What strange, sad gods had dwarfed his clever little brother, and given Cersei the most sensuous body and beatific face in the realm? To be sure within the lines around her mouth there was cruelty, lust, hate, and cunning, but sometimes, in the moments Jaime now lived for, she was fragile, the lines disappearing as though they had never existed, her heart-shaped face the picture of innocence. Yes, fragile; the crystalline vase had a crack and he could see it, see those treasured moments when her eyes turned toward him, no malice lurking within her spectacle of wildfire, just… her.

Had she always been so treacherous? What was this beautiful woman… his sister… that she would be his lover, bear his children, endure his caresses in secret—that she would cast him aside? It gave him pause, made him weak, made him… did he hate her? Could he hate her? Blood of his blood, eyes, ears, hands… his phantom hand twitched with the thought.

Cersei lapsed back into the bed, stretching, her eyes still closed as though in sleep. The shift scarcely covered her thighs.

He glimpsed what he wanted. Carefully, Jaime procured the few silken belts from the deep pockets of his white robes, and looped them around her feet, tying them, however awkwardly, to the bed. He reached the top of the bed, where Cersei's hands loosely folded into one another, and did the same to her hands. Lacking the knightly armor that usually clattered and clanked, he sat down next to her, his movements unencumbered, and he ever so gently swept long tendrils of gold from her long-lashed eyes. It was a movement born of familiarity.

"Jaime…?" Cersei opened her eyes and realized from the small allowance of movement that she had been deftly tied up. Her eyes flamed when she realized that she could struggle and to no avail.

"I have appointments this morning," she hissed. When her eyes narrowed like that she looked very much like an angry cat. Her breasts swelled marvelously.

"Sweet sister."

"Are you mocking me?" she cried, struggling harder against her bonds. Jaime sat next to her, utterly relaxed. Seeing his composure only made her struggle harder. Thanks to hours of practice with Ser Ilyn Payne, Jaime was much more comfortable using rope and tying knots, practice meant just for an occasion such as this.

"What is the meaning of this? Do you mean to _use_ me?" She asked, her emphasis on _use_ implied in a more sexual manner than he was accustomed to these days. Again the chorus of names Tyrion had listed sprang into his mind, and though his pulse raced, a more sedate tone was used.

"Of course not, sweet sister. My intentions are entirely chaste depending on how you react to my proposal. If you are good, I will be good. If you are bad…" he traced the outline of her arm with his golden hand.

Repulsed, she roared. She had worked herself into a fine sweat already. This might be easier than he had earlier conjectured.

"Let us get to the point then, shall we?" he waited, and she roared again. As soon as she quieted, he launched into his next statement.

"You have been quite naughty, dear sis. Using people at the rate you are, not a one will be happy with you in the space of a few months. Sellswords, people of ill-repute, these are not the kind of people I would have my family surrounded with. I would have hoped that my blood running in your veins would tame you, make you smarter, but it seems that you fluidly rebuke the words of wisdom that might have contained your worse emotions. Alas, you are not quite as smart as you are cunning, and it's time for someone to step in and save you. And, though a cripple I may be, I'm the best chance you have of getting out of King's Landing alive."

Her eyes were wide with horror and rage, but there was something very quaint about her breasts, which were rising and falling sharply with every breath. Jaime pushed aside the flimsy fabric from the upturned tilt of her breasts and bent his head to do exactly what he had wanted to do for ages. His pink tongue lapped at her flushed breasts and tasted a nipple gingerly with his teeth. She let out a low moan.

"You haven't gagged me idiot. I could call your Kingsguard and have you arrested in an instant. What makes you so bold, you, you—"

"Cripple, coward, idiot? Doesn't the father of your children deserve better? Perhaps someone faithful?" The words felt so good to get out.

This time she did scream, and Jaime fetched one of her veils to tie around her pretty little treacherous mouth. Thus gagged, he launched into the other part of his speech.

"Well, my guards actually are faithful, because they _like_ me. Good gods, who would have thought? Loyalty bought with kindness is much more lasting! Too bad you never realized it. So very, very, cunning, and so very, very short-sighted! Father always did try to teach you more than you wanted to learn. Your pretty smiles, they could buy anyone, couldn't they?"

Jaime turned, refusing to look at her as he admitted his folly. "They bought me, didn't they? Good Gods, I fathered children on you, my twin, my beauty. How could I have refused you?" When he turned back, he could not stop himself from touching her cheek. Her eyes, frame as they were by golden lashes, were touched ever so slightly with moisture, and he could see at the very least his words were not lost on her.

"I was born with you and I knew you in every way a brother should and should not know his sister. I know you in every way that a person could know another person."

Jaime looked out the stained glass window and saw the rain. "Cersei, my siren, my goddess, my lioness."

Taking a moment to gather himself, he cast his eyes at her, searching for the truth. "Is it so easy to push me away, to taunt me? Your words have haunted me more than you know. More than I even know, as a matter of fact."

Cersei was silent, a sign that she was either waiting for an opportunity to spring on him, or that she was genuinely listening.

The golden hand that had replaced his sword hand lay heavy on his thigh.

"When you are in need of my skills you lurch close, yet never close enough to realize who and what I have become. Honor used to mean nothing to me, until the very moment it became sacrosanct, when Catelyn Stark entrusted me with the task of returning her children..." It was a cause he had somehow left behind, though his honor maintained that it be done. He closed his eyes in pain; remorse.

"I want good things for the realm, and for us. Once I had possessed you, you knew I would never want to let you go. I refuse to believe that I was never your champion. We're older now... we should be smarter, shouldn't we?" He put his hands beside her still body, looking down at her. He saw nothing more than he had seen before; a beautiful, idiotic part of him that had been ripped away in the womb, a woman consumed with power, lusting for everything and nothing.

And yet when he looked harder, when he searched within himself for what he truly saw, he received the vision of a person who could give him more happiness than he had ever known, and would ever know with anyone else.

Roughly, he grabbed her face, ripping away the gag and kissed her, savoring the sweet taste of her, that illicit irrefutable sweetness only he had ever found there, and that she relinquished only for him. She kissed him back, against all odds, but turned her head before he could consume more. Jaime pulled his tunic over his head, unbuckled his belt, pulling the remnants of his clothing off of himself. Her nightgown, such as it was, was doing her no favors. It was quickly disposed of, revealing all.

His arms and legs found purchase outside the outline of her body. He knew that she would think he was still beautiful, that his muscles rippled as much as they ever had, that his hair was long enough to curl, that he had shorn his beard to appear beautiful to her, for her once again.

"When will you realize, sweet sister, that I am the best lover you will ever have? That I have sacrificed _everything_ for you?" His emerald eyes searched the mirror of her equally emerald eyes, and what he found there didn't please him in the slightest.

The question mark of her silence deterred him, unnerving his most sacred principles.

"Well, we'll see then," he said roughly, claiming her mouth with his own. She murmured against his mouth. Once he ripped his mouth away, she tried to spit the words at him, her pouty, inflamed red lips moving, making the words he needed to hear.

"You can't—" Her words, venomous even when unspoken, were swallowed as she heard him continue in as placid and dangerous a tone as she had ever heard him use.

"I could fuck you here." He whispered, golden tendrils escaping his beautifully coiffed hair, refined, in spite of his crude words. " I could fuck you here, and no one would ever hear your screams of pleasure—or pain—whichever you would rather bequeath to me, being that I more you than you are yourself and, of course, am the only man you have ever truly enjoyed between your legs."

Her eyes narrowed, not yet trapped, and still not vulnerable enough to sacrifice even one footing of strength. She had tried this hard to establish her authority; she was pitiless in her determination.

With the actions of a practiced lover, Jaime willfully separated her clothes from her body, his caresses sweet, and yet with an answering ardor and determination that matched his sister's stance. _You defy me… I defy you…_

Now he kissed her, partially repulsed at what he would now do, though the greater part of him wished dearly to take of her what was rightfully his. He nudged her legs open with his knee, though she still fought against him, and now whispered soothing words in her ear that were meant only for her, while the bulge of his cock now pressed to her.

"My dear, sweetest Cersei, to take of you like this is the most terrible revenge I could enact. I am sorry."

When he entered her, it was pleasure and pain mixed into one; they both moaned at the intrusion, but Jaime pressed on, feeling the pressure of her sex around him, kissing her neck, nipping her porcelain skin with tiny love marks.

Though this was taken against her will, Cersei nevertheless felt the pleasure of something that she had forgotten was there, the ache of nostalgia and the current sweetness that coursed through her loins as this handsome man took her. It was not brutal, but neither was it the kindest session. It was all for his pleasure, but somehow she felt an increased measure of desire even in this most forced instance.

Her full, golden orbs bobbed with the movements of their lovemaking, rounded peaks bursting with ripeness. It was all Jaime could do to prevent himself from constantly sucking on her, even though it was an awkward angle. He used his natural hand to keep one of her breasts close, his tongue lapping at her. Flushed, his twin moaned, feeling inordinate amounts of pleasure despite herself.

When it was done, and he was finished, Jaime lay panting on top of her. Denied the release of her own orgasm, Cersei bitterly turned her head to the side. It was not usual for Jaime to leave his sister wanting, but this, of course, was not about what she wanted.

"Do you want more?" He teased, trailing a finger along her jawline.

Embarrassed for her need, she seethed at him. "Are you finished with me now that you've taken your pleasure?" Her tone was biting.

Jaime stood from the bed. "I am taking you back to Casterly Rock. I have named Ser Kevin as the current regent, citing your growing madness as the reason. You, hopefully, will marry me, and you will never again play this game of thrones. If we are lucky, we will not be killed on the journey or have a war at our doors. I do not doubt we will die soon, but if we do, at least I will have taken as much of you as I want."

Cersei started screaming as loud and hard as she ever had before. Quick as a heartbeat, Jaime was next to her, soothing her.

"Shh. You don't have a choice. I have bought and paid for every man in our retinue. Something of me reminds them of our father, Lord Tywin. They hurriedly do my bidding, and fear me enough to leave us alone. Also, the vacancy will allow the Tyrells to rule King's Landing, with Tommen as their prince. The best of luck to them. May it give them more happiness than it ever did us."

He left the bed and straightened his clothes. When he reached the hallway, he ordered several strong men and five maids to get Cersei dressed and her wardrobe packed. They had already been instructed in the plan to evacuate to Casterly Rock. Gods willing, King's Landing wanted to be just as rid of them and would release them willingly into the wilds of Westeros.


	2. Chapter 2

The wench wore red. Her sturdy, high breasts shone in the midday light, garnering more than half of his attention.

"Jaime," she said pleasantly, a false smile on her lips, "what in the seven hells are you doing?"

"If I knew that, Cersei, I would have half a mind to remind you." He replied with an equally facile smile.

"You dog."

"Lion," he correctly sweetly.

"You order me in here, after using me so brusquely, stripping me of my powers, and you don't expect me to fight?"

Jaime was silent.

"Good. You're not half as dumb as father believed."

"Only you were petrified of father. Some things are more important than lenience to one's father. Particularly if said father is a tyrannical lord who orders his adult children into war and marriages."

"Says you, who have never been married."

"Precisely my point. Only one person has ever warranted my love and devotion."

The carriage lurched, bringing Cersei's breakfast to her throat.

"Don't speak of such things."

"In the beginning it was mutual…" he trailed off.

"In the beginning you were perfect. My perfect knight, besting all others… Have I told you yet how I admired Rhaegar?" The barb was mean to wound, but Jaime had been wounded by her before, and deflected it brilliantly.

"I guess a brother's love is better, then, since Rhaegar denied you. A pity. Gold meant nothing to platinum."

She was silent for a moment, nursing her pride. "Gold. Gold. Gold. I'm so sick of gold," she uttered suddenly. It was uncharacteristic of her.

"I'm not sick of your gold," Jaime said suddenly.

"Maybe it's because I've put such a high price on it." Her eyes glimmered, and the sun from the crimson curtain cast her emerald orbs into peridot.

"Not for the Kettleblacks. They never knew what they had. Lancel though…"

Cersei roared. She flung herself toward him, lightning fast, but Jaime was able to deflect her with his golden hand, swiping at the air before she had a chance to seize him. Unable to land a blow, Cersei receded back on the velvet cushions, attempting to compose herself. Usually her words were like a well-honed knife, able to slice neatly, and deeply. Her attempts to harm him frustrated herself on two levels—the fact that he was right, and the fact that she was wrong. She never allowed herself to feel like she was wrong, but…

"What if I said Lancel never happened?"

"Then I would say you were a liar, Not the first time I called you an unseemly name, well-deserved though it might be."

Cersei struggled.

In an entirely rare moment of honesty, Cersei came forward with her own brand of truth, having nothing to lose, and knowing it full well. "Lancel was because I missed you. The Kettleblacks were for power, nothing more."

"Nothing more? What of the night you refused me at Tommen's wedding?"

Cersei opened her mouth to opine, and then shut it, knowing how misguided her plot had been, especially considering it hadn't had the effect she had expected. To her twin she said nothing, and tried desperately to look more dignified than her vicious plots had led her to become.

She said nothing, and it was either because she didn't want to or because she regretted it— Jaime could not say. He didn't want to look to closely at her reaction either. He eagerly wished death on everyone who had ever experienced his sister's abundant charms.

"That night and every night I have wanted you. Do you want me to lie? Say that I didn't? I did. I have. I _do_." Damning sunlight flashed upon her breasts as well as the gold in her tumbled hair. The servants hadn't been able to contain it for fear of Cersei's wrath. She nearly clawed one servant's face after he tried to move her vanity. Jaime hadn't heard but for the minute he approached the carriage and found Cersei fuming inside and a hesitant Denores afraid to be reproached for telling the tale (after Jaime kindly requested any new events of him). He had the milk of the poppy tucked away safely in his coat in case she got feisty. Therefore, it was due to her own behavior that her waist long hair tumbled down in a riot of long curls, with few pins partaken to contain it.

"What will now happen to my dearest son? He is alone in a castle full of murderers." She said, coming up with yet another barb.

"Being taken care of by the Tyrells. And the Lannisters have as of yet still a few faithful servants who care for the prince."

"Those roses can't take care of him! They'd sooner poison him," she muttered darkly.

Instantly exasperated at the comment, Jaime sighed.

"Sis, you are absolutely, positively mad. I mean, you've made your point."

Cersei seethed, the arrow hitting her as though she was a bullseye.

"Why do I feel like a captive? My brother should not put me through this. A brother would help his sister."

"This brother enjoys fucking his sister, and don't you forget it."

"I'll cut off your balls, and feed them to the dogs."

He smiled slowly.

"If you try anything, I'll cut out your tongue and do terrible things to your mouth."

Cersei pouted, crossing her arms beneath her ample breasts.

They passed several hours in silence. It was to be a few days until they reached Casterly Rock, but Jaime had ordered they were not to stop unless absolutely necessary, and were flying banners that belied the lions in the carriage. A vast army they had, with banners that harkened to the River Lords—they were enough to deflect anything but an army threatening them.

Late that night, it was decided to give the horses a rest and retire at a small, yet resilient inn. Jaime ordered rooms for him and Cersei.

"Don't think I'll let you into my apartments." Cersei whispered throatily, tired from lack of sleep.

Jaime let it go, and that night he retired to a simple bed, and was never more grateful for the privilege.

Early the next morning they did not wait even to break their fast before they starting rolling once again for Casterly Rock.

Several hours later, having broken bread and shared dried fruit and cheese with Cersei, Jaime decided to open up some fine Arbor gold. As he tipped the flask into his mouth, he remembered a young girl who had served it to him once, promising him more Arbor gold in her room should he come looking for her. It was implied where the gold would be and that it would also taste quite divine. Jaime almost chuckled.

He looked over at Cersei, who was gloomily looking out of the carriage window. He had not expected this journey to be quite so easy, but perhaps the hard part was only to come.

Looking at Cersei always conjured up images of past, and present. Maybe it was only because he was growing older, but somehow all the images were intertwined. Cersei his twin, laughing. Cersei jealous of the attention their father lavished on him. Cersei exacting her punishment later, upending a bucket of water onto his lap. Cersei mocking Tyrion. Jaime punishing Cersei for mocking Tyrion, and loving her anyway.

_Loving her anyway…_

As Jaime had come to understand his heart, he one day realized that it didn't matter what Cersei did, how cruel she was, or what she did, the nature of his love was to merely love her anyway. It wasn't as though he forgot those things, it was just that he didn't want to be with anyone else, and that was it. It was not a naïve assumption, ill-made, even though an outsider would certainly consider it less than optimal. Instead it was what it was.

He remembered when she had laughed at him for lusting after the golden hair between her thighs not so long ago. She had seen the look in his eye as she was getting out of the bath, and laughed. That had been a dismal day.

Jaime's imaginary hand clenched, and he wanted to hurt something. Soon the feeling passed, and he realized he was looking at Cersei.

She realized he was looking at her as well. And there was something in his eyes that let her know that she was not being regarded in the best light. Cersei reclined against the cushions and stared at him the same way, reimagining all the reasons she had to loath him.

Jaime put his good hand over his eyes and closed them. It was merely too taxing to hate her. And she had so much hate in her, that it was enough for the both of them.

"Pray tell me brother, what is going on in that little mind of yours?"

"Do you have to reduce everything, woman? Can nothing ever be honorable or good to you?"

"Since when have you been honorable?"

"Stop. Please don't go on."

"You fucked someone else's wife, threw a child from a tower, have killed hundreds of people—"

"CERSEI, please!" He realized he had to say something, or her petulant words would go on, and he would be forced to listen to them in the confines of the ridiculous carriage they were in.

"Have you never just truly loved someone? Would you sacrifice your life so someone else could go free?"

"I love my children. Joffrey was mine own son, and—"

"What about little old me, Cers?"

Finally she softened. "Yes, I have loved you."

He said the words before she could. "Whenever it was convenient."

"It was never convenient to love you. I just did. Is that alright, Jaime?"

"Don't you see? I have to believe in that, or else everything else goes away. I lose a part of myself that I need if you never loved me." He took a deep swig of wine.

"Let me have that."

"You've been drinking a lot lately. Doesn't do good things for the figure, you know," Jaime grinned and handed her the flask.

She made a face and drank a little of the wine.

"Remember when we were young and got drunk on Father's wine? It must have been when we were fifteen or sixteen. Wicked little children." Cersei smiled and continued.

"We hated the taste, then, even though it was sweet. We sat in the room Father used as his study, on the floor. I had to remove my bodice because it was always too tight. One of the servant girls was there, and we practiced kissing with her to see if we were any good. Little strumpet loved kissing us." She took another swig of the wine.

"What was her name?" Jaime asked.

"Gods if I know. Let's call her Busty and be done with it."

Jaime smiled wickedly.

"Anyway, as we got more and more intoxicated, you and I turned to each other, seemingly oblivious to shared blood, and kissed passionately. I remember it as being the best kiss I'd ever had. The light in the darkness, the one I will always compare other kisses to." Cersei smiled shyly

All the blood drained out of his face and accumulated in other parts of his body.

Cersei sighed and looked away."The next morning it everywhere, all the servants were talking about it. You would have thought tragic little Busty had sent out a letter like Stannis had." Her face acquired a sour look, her beauty none the less unaffected.

"Tragic? Whatever happened to her?"

"Busty was sent away to another castle. Away from family and friends. You see, Father never did like liars."

Jaime laughed, having completely forgotten the event until now.

Cersei gave Jaime back the flask. "Do like it when I'm wicked?"

"No," he admitted. "But I like it when you're funny. You're not funny all that often."

Cersei took a moment to consider the man sitting opposite her. Gold tendrils hung in his eyes boyishly, flawless skin, full lips and white teeth shone back in a mirror image of herself.

She didn't want to ask the question of whether she was narcissistic, desiring him the way she did, but she did know, deep in her heart, that he was beautiful, and she desired him because he was elusive. She could never quite pin anything on him except for his love for her. That was easy enough to do… except he was the only one she could pin that particular accusation upon.

Cersei knew she was beautiful. Besides that, what she had to offer seemed to pale besides the obvious. Wealth, connections, these she could offer. But just being herself… she hadn't really ever been that way since she was a girl at Casterly Rock.

Jaime was swigging wine and looking at her too. But the look in his eyes was different than it had been before. She saw the familiar look of desire sparkle in his eyes and she felt it too. She had always been able to quench it with a similar feeling no less remarkable for its potency, but now she felt no need to diminish its effect, for when she was being completely honest with herself… and she hadn't been in a long time, she desperately _needed _Jaime. Needed his love, his cock and himself all to herself.

The dress she wore wasn't her finest, but its crimson length did much for her statuesque figure. Her curls were loosely clasped in a hair net. The curls she let roam free, loosening the pins and the hair net. Her hair tumbled down over her breasts. She looked up at him through her lashes.

Cersei, clad in a simple red dress, her hair down, no ornamentation on her, none needed besides, for her gold and emeralds were already possessed in her hair and eyes, looked stunning. Like the girl he fell in love with. She got on the carriage floor and positioned herself between his legs.

"What if I've been a stupid girl playing a game that has no winner?"

Jaime was stunned.

Experienced fingers tugged at the strings of his constraining pants, and she took his rigid member from its nest of golden curls. Looking up at him, she began to put in her mouth. Jaime looked up, clenching his good hand, and wondering if this was a dream. But pulses of pleasure began to hum through him as a hungry mouth began to pleasure him. Jaime's fingers became embedded in his sister's curls.

Cersei lost herself to the movements, using her hands and mouth to please him, familiar and safe, loving the sweet throaty sounds he made, and the way he so gratifyingly said her name over and over again.

When he sensed he was close, he pulled Cersei up and put her on his lap, pushing her smallclothes aside.

"Jaime," she said breathlessly. Jaime kissed her, arching his back to better coat her tongue with his. He settled her better on his lap, and they began to move together.

"Wait, you don't want to-"

"Be a father again? Gods yes. With you, always." Then he came inside of her, pushing his face into her neck, then moving to her breasts.

She was still, caressing his back. She tried not to move, as was her wont, but it was Jaime who moved first, kissing her again on the mouth, then moving her gently aside. He put himself away, and then got to smiling at her foolishly.

She mirrored his foolish smile.

"Are we damned?" She asked.

He closed his eyes and drew her to him so he could place his head on her chest. She always detested this kind of closeness, but she relented. It was different now. She had no husband, no game to play, few children left, and little on the line. Maybe she really could just be herself. And with that, she drew him even closer and began to stroke his face.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for the first review, So-so-imagination! Well I hope you will be pleased to know that I don't unnecessarily kill characters, I suspect for the same reason people hate to read it… because it hurts! _

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When they arrived at Casterly Rock, it was as beautiful and immaculate as it had ever been before. There was no pageantry from the small folk or the inhabitants of the castle since they were flying different banners, but Cersei and Jaime nonetheless kept the windows open to better see the castle. Reaching the gate, an envoy went to tell of who was inside the carriage, and soon the drawbridge lowered, and they were allowed into the fortress.

A look passed between Jaime and Cersei, the latter of whom smiled and looked away, amused. It had been over a decade since they had been able to come back to their ancestral home, and it was as it had always been. Seemingly the only that that had changed over the years were Jaime and Cersei, who were older, possessing war wounds, their love no less desperate or deep than it had been when they departed for King's Landing, stones in their hearts and bellies.

Cersei had demanded to wear raiment as best befit a former queen, and from her vast traveler's trunk she was brought a violet gown with cream-colored slashed sleeves and white foxes fur at the cuffs. Jaime wore crimson—white would simply never do, Cersei had told him, and if he was to be her knight, he must look the part.

The old servants piled before them, taking their measure, rewarding them with clean smiles and knowing eyes. The two were no longer youths—they had grown up in the very image of a king and a queen, though they lacked the crowns. Fittingly, a Lannister should look the part but not wear the crown, a braver whisper was said. Jaime and Cersei, had they been privy, probably would have agreed.

They wasted no time going to their private quarters to take their measure of the place and talk— hopefully with some suckling pig, garlic bread, fresh fruit, and an array of cheeses, Jaime suggested to the porter, who relayed his word to the kitchens. Cersei tried not to give herself away, but the familiarity of home spoke to her, and she was, in a word, relieved.

They traipsed up the castle stairs to the second story, for better privacy. A passing serving girl took pains to look at Jaime's hand, much to his chagrin.

"So," Jaime said, once he sat down.

"Yes?" Cersei answered, pouring them two goblets of Arbor red from a flagon.

His twin's words, coupled with the huge ornate, nostalgic glow of the room made Jaime exquisitely happy, casting out his former gloom. "I've been trying to come up with a reason why we shouldn't be married."

Walking to him, Cersei sighed and handed him a goblet, and then sat on the armrest of the chair he was sitting on. "Must I explain it to you again? Must we rush so fast? We just got here." She explicated.

"Lions are greedy."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tell me about it." Cersei moved to sit in the chair opposite him, arranging her skirts as she went.

"By the way…" she began. She stopped, then started again. "As of yet, our relationship has been moving as fast as summer fleeing Westeros. It was not so long ago that I was playing a certain game. My son died. Tyrion murdered my son and my father. These are things I must move past. And, unfortunately, I can't have someone murdered from my post at Casterly Rock." She took a sip of her wine.

A ghost of a smile crossed Jaime's lips.

"Also, doesn't this seem just a little too idyllic? Here you've stolen me—you have, don't deny it—and you intend to rebuke all tradition by marrying your sister."

"The Targaryens did it—"

"The Targaryens were crazy. Aerys was, you saw it. That, unfortunately, is the ultimate result of the seed of our union."

Jaime stiffened. Joffrey was a little beast, allowed to run amok while his mother merely encouraged him, telling him he was kingly, Tommen was sweet, but soft, and Myrcella was beautiful, but it didn't seem like they were anything to brag about just yet. By contrast, Cersei had been, and still was, the most beautiful of the women in Westeros, cruel though she might have been. And in his day, before being called the Kingslayer, he had been a widely acknowledge Tourney champion. And if inbreeding caused the worst of the worst and the best of the best…

Cersei had been a loving mother, if not the brightest. Perhaps with a guiding hand to help her…_ even if I only have the one…_

Cersei realized he was looking at her analytically, and she squirmed.

"Stop looking at me like that. What if I meant what I said in the carriage? What if I merely want to be a girl again at Casterly Rock? What if I believe you when you say you love me?" Though she could not possibly have known what he was thinking, he found her poignant remarks right on the money.

"Well…" he sighed. "Then we could resolve the issue of how many men you slept with."

Abruptly, she got up from her chair and looked out the window at the distant sea. "What would you like to know? Osney Kettleblack and Lancel. There might have been another. I can't remember."

"Why wasn't I enough for you?"

She started her statement fast, then slowed as she comprehended her words."After Joff died I was mad with grief. And I like to tease men. I enjoy attention, who doesn't? And if sex gets you what you want, then so what? I've told you oft enough one of a women's greatest powers is between her legs." She swallowed, that much Jaime could tell. "And besides, even though we're twins, I'm a different person than you. I'm not as good as you are." She turned to him, one of her delicate hands on the windowsill. There was steel in her voice. "None of them were you, so it didn't matter." She turned away again. "You know, without Father around, you were more dangerous than you knew. Your pull on my emotions could have hurt us both."

"Were you considering getting rid of me?"

"Not harming you… just getting you out of the way."

"Unsurprising." It still hurt. Somehow, even though he still loved her, she was still a callous bitch.

He got up and wanted to run away. Instead he took her in his arms, and felt like he was holding a viper and not his sister.

"I'm sorry." She said.

"Are you?"

"Yes." She said into his shoulder.

Even though they were twins, he was still taller than her, and certainly stronger. He pushed her away, then drew her close and took a letter opener from a nearby desk.

He held it against her throat for a split second, not long enough to register a reaction, just to see what it felt like. Then he used it to cut apart her bodice.

"Jaime!" she yelped, and tried to get away, but he had a stronger hold on her than she thought, and her efforts were futile, with his golden hand at her back, and his other at her front, furiously working away.

"It's not always about sex, Jaime," she said, still fighting, trying to convince him.

"It was with Lancel."

"Fuck you." He caught her arm before she could land a blow, and they crumpled to the floor. She found his golden hand, and instead of letting it repulse her, she took a moment, just a moment, to look at it. It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as was there before, but still. Jaime saw her reaction, and became more hungry for her, snarling as he claimed her mouth.

He pushed up her skirts roughly, and fought his way inside her. She cried when finally he was inside her, but it was an exquisite pain, for it felt like she had been waiting for it all along. As he worked on her, Cersei found herself arching to meet his touch, the small of her back grinding against the carpet.

"_Jaime," _she whispered his name like it was a mantra. Jaime buried his face in her neck and sucked hard, claiming her, knowing she would hate it later, but being nonetheless lost in his passion for her. Harder, his cock pulsed, deeper inside of her until she didn't know where he ended and she began. The letter opener was further away, but the mere sight of it made Cersei hold Jaime closer for security. She cried when they came together, because it was so perfect.

When he rolled away she felt cold.

"Another ruined gown," she sighed. "Sleep in my bed." Cersei said to him suddenly, having rolled onto her belly, the dress still crumpled beneath her.

"I've waited what seems like centuries for you to say that."

Cersei waited. It would be another attack.

"You were always enough for me. Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't you…"

"I poisoned my husband for you, isn't that enough?" She sighed.

"For me? Or for power?"

"Lust tends to make things blur together."

A knock on the door drew the twins to their feet. "I'll answer that," Jaime said promptly, tucking himself away, and making himself presentable.

Cersei drew a long sleeve over the front of her dress and tried to look nonchalant in a chair.

A few servants brought a feast before them, with far more food than they had asked, but Cersei nonetheless looked at it hungrily.

"Are you alright, my lady?" One of the women asked.

Cersei smiled tightly and nodded.

The servants soon left, and Jaime took his place across from his twin, noticing that besides the nobility of her features, and the extravagance of her dress, she looked an extraordinarily beautiful wench. There was something so elegant and timeless about her features… he had never seen the like of it… except when he sometimes, only sometimes caught flashes of Cersei in the features of his face. He quite liked that. He watched her serve herself some pig, then some fruit, and some bread. After she was done, he served himself, but also took every opportune moment to gaze at her eating.

"Have you thought about our children?"

"Tommen and Myrcella? What of them, sweet sister?"

Cersei took a moment before broaching the subject. At least he had not rejected them utterly as Robert's brood.

"If we were to bring them here..."

Jaime drew himself up and tried to talk frankly with her. "Cersei, as children of Robert, they belong to the realm now. We will do what we can to ensure their safety from Casterly Rock, but with Tommen still king and Myrcella in Dorne, there is little we can do."

Cersei didn't want to fight. She was too tired to fight, and the sex had taken whatever appetite she had for it out of her. She had loved her little golden children, suckled them, nurtured them as best she could while still keeping a tight grip on the reins of King's Landing. So many parts of her screamed as they never had before to merely grasp whatever happiness she could, and to enjoy it. These voices lured her into Jaime's arms because, frankly, even though she could try to deny it, there was no other place in the world she would rather be. And she had thought about it.

Cruel, she had been, to Jaime, when he had returned without his hand. She had never let him truly into her bed, unable to control him as she had before, unable to will him to be her councilor, and utterly frustrating her every attempt. This memory made her mad, until she took a moment and thought about why it had.

She delicately picked up a strawberry with her dessert fork and brought it to her lips. She took a moment to gaze at her brother eating his own food, and found herself pitying him as he struggled ever so slightly to spear a thistleberry with his fork. Suddenly she felt a wash of pain from all the mocking she had made of him, for his shorn hand.

Jaime looked up at her and smiled. She must have made a strange face, because he asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing, dear brother," she said suddenly, before he figured it out for himself. _A lion with a wounded paw_ she thought suddenly. She had read that somewhere when she was young, and had wondered at the time whether a lion was more precious with a wounded paw or without. She decided at last that even though she missed Jaime's hand, he was kind of cute fumbling as he did without it. Certainly she could use that to her advantage somehow…

She plucked a strawberry from the plate and hovered it in front of Jaime's handsome face. When he looked at it, and her, his eyes softened.

_Dear Gods, she means to feed me herself_, Jaime thought, a kind of sickening sweetness overwhelming him. He opened his mouth a fraction and watched his sister's nimble hands slide the wild strawberry into his mouth and over his tongue. He made sure to close his lips over the tips of her fingers. She looked delighted, and when she looked as such, her pink cheeks glowed.

Next she picked up a piece of soft brie, and the luxuriance of it coated his tongue deliciously. He smiled and looked at her with sweet sadness and enjoyment in his eyes.

"Oh Cersei."

She mirrored his look. "Come to my bed tonight."

"You mean the quarters where you were just a girl?" He laughed suddenly.

She laughed, remembering the same thing.

"Those big sulky rooms. They never stopped us from being naughty, did they?" Jaime murmured, leaning back in his seat.

"We were seven—gods, just too young. I remember. We took off our clothes to look at each other. I played with myself and you with yourself. But it was innocent—at that time, we didn't, it wasn't sexual, it was just exploring."

"There was something slightly naughty to it." Jaime persisted.

"Yes, I remember feeling like it would be so very bad to be caught."

"And we were." Cersei picked up a blackberry and slid it into her brother's mouth, ignoring the obvious connotations of forbidden fruit.

"The rooms mother moved me into were not as nice. I think she was trying to punish me. Us."

Suddenly it all became too much for the both of them, that they now lived here in this large palace their mother and father had bequeathed to them, and that it contained these mixed memories. Their lives had been so different, so difficult, in the interim. Lovers, fights, deaths, war… it had put a strain on them as it would have put a strain on any sensible person. Neither of them claimed to be sensible, though, especially in the context of their lives leading up to this point.

When they went to find proper quarters for them to sleep in, they finally chose a room sequestered from the others that was draped in a fashion typical to the master bedroom. As of yet, neither Jaime nor Cersei wanted to approach their mother and father's room. But the bed was vast, and they soon fell asleep in each other's arms, chaste, yet naked and holding each other, for all their good intentions.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys! Having a lot of fun with these characters. They're not mine, unfortunately, but they are quite a lot of fun. I was reading Lion and Wolf, a fic in this fandom, and realized some of my references might be similar, so I just wanted to clarify that I'm just playing with the characters and that I'm not trying to copy anyone else's work… even George R.R. Martin's. Yeah, now I just sound like I'm b—sh-ing. _

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Once a maester traveling from Oldtown whispered to her that her one true love would smell incredibly potent to her.

As she awoke from a deep sleep, Cersei drew her brother's back to her chest, and she inhaled the sweet, musky scent of him, pulling her fingers through his hair as her senses partook in his scent. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly what it was that he smelled like, but he did smell so very good to her. Good enough to eat. She trailed kisses from his fragrant hair to his sinewy shoulders, to the strong, lean bones of his back, and finally to the small of his back.

By this time, Jaime was rousing, arching to meet her touch.

She had never thought of herself as a sexual being as such, but she knew better than to archetype a seductress from a lady, and a wench from a queen, for she recognized them as all one and the same. Her full, lush breasts stroked his back and buttocks, returning once again to his shoulders, where she sought to encapsulate his shoulders within her arm span.

He moaned, using his right hand to touch her, but where he meant to touch her, his fingers connected with nothing. Jaime woke suddenly from his stupor, and looked at his twin. She looked as frightened as he. His hand was not there, and it took a moment for both of them to register.

"I'm sorry,"

"I'm sorry," they both blurted out. Cersei looked at where his hand should be and wanted to sigh, but she held it together and slowly, hesitantly, placed a kiss where his hand should be.

Jaime was incomplete. He knew that part of him had rotten and gone away somewhere, but when Cersei kissed him, he did seem complete again. They lay there, taking measures of one another.

"I like you better without the golden hand." Cersei said suddenly. "Gold is good, but you are better."

They were not the perfect words, but when Cersei snuggled into his chest, they were as good as he could have hoped.

They were cradled in each other's arms when they heard a soft knock on the door.

As though the knock were the same Lady Joanna had issued years before, quick as a cat Cersei rolled out of bed, and hid herself in the closet.

Jaime leisurely began to pull white pants over his long legs, afterwards taking a moment to place the gold hand on his wrist.

"Ser? Would you like breakfast?"

Jaime crossed the room in three long strides, and opened the door to the serving girl. Her eyes widened, eyes taking in his long height, his muscles, his golden hair, the amused expression on his face, and finally the exquisite gold hand.

"Um, um, um,"

"Breakfast for two, please. Fried bread with honey and butter, a spread of fruit, and some venison sausage. Would you be so kind?" He smiled, his face a composite of expectation, innocence and amusement.

"Of course, Ser Lannister."

"Jaime," he corrected her, smiling and shutting the door behind her. He didn't have to look twice to see her beaming as she went on her way.

He went over to the wardrobe and knocked on the door. Cersei opened it, then eyed her twin with a seething look.

"Ah, she appears!"

She narrowed her eyes, then pushed past him, her lush, statuesque, yet full-figured body as naked as the day she was born. Jaime watched her sashay past, his eyes fixated on her narrow waist, her rounded rear.

"Now I have to put back on my ruined violet gown and try to find some clothes!"

"I'm sure there are some clothes in these musty closets," he supplied helpfully, though he did not want her putting on clothes too fast.

Cersei pursed her lips and walked to the other side of the room, past the chaise lounge, to a huge gilded wardrobe flanked by floor-length windows that had a breathtaking view of the sea. She opened the doors and was mildly surprised to see some dresses that were approximately her size.

"What do you think?" She asked, holding a gown with huge mottled grey flowers against her form.

"Hello Great-Aunt Lyria!" Jaime said, his tone snarky. He close to recline on the chaise lounge while the show commenced, arms crossed behind his head.

She threw it to the floor and rummaged once more through the older gowns. She pulled a gown that was embroidered with golden stars against a fuchsia background. It would have fitted her, but her breasts would positively be bursting through the fabric.

"And this?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"I don't see a problem with that one," Jaime said, his tone low.

She threw that one in the same pile as Great-Aunt Lyria's favorite dress. Next she pulled out a rather simpler gown of navy that made her golden hair sing next to the dark fabric. Silver, instead of gold were the accents, but besides being simple, it was a perfect gown, having been made in a fabric she would not mind having against her skin.

"What do you think of this one, dear brother?" She said, holding it against her porcelain skin.

"It's fine. But you must go outside with it, since I am thirsting for a look at the grounds. If you feel comfortable in that capacity, then I say you should wear it."

Cersei looked within the closet for some smallclothes, found a _few_ dainty things, and dressed in front of her brother. She also happened to find a loose blue shirt for him to wear as well, in a color close to the navy she wore, and tossed it to him. Thus decently dressed, it only took a few minutes for breakfast to arrive.

The blushing girl looked startled to see Cersei, a look she met with a cool glance of her green eyes.

Soon breakfast was laid out, and the twins began to eat. Midway through, Jaime looked at Cersei and laughed.

"What?" she said, upset and confused.

"Your hair is beautiful, but you might like to brush it." A golden nest settled around his sister's face, making her look like an unkempt angel.

"It's not my fault, there are no mirrors in here." She said defensively, and speared a piece of sausage with her fork.

Jaime smiled convivially, and continued eating.

It was not long before Cersei stalked down the hall and ordered her things to be placed in a room more lavish than the one she had spent the last night in. She also asked for half the clothes from her brother's wardrobe also be brought to the same room, "for the sake of needing to dress him without his hand," she had the grace to look the dutiful sister. Jaime laughed, and had entwined her in his arms when she turned the corner to go into his room.

"What was that?"

She sighed and looked up at him, enchanted, though trying not to look it, and over-thinking it, poor thing.

He chuckled, and put his arm around her, leading her down the hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews, guys! As usual, I have no claim to these characters. For more thoughts by me, check out my profile._

The blue shirt billowed sharply in the strong wind, its lithe shield the one recourse Jaime had against the coastal conditions. He grinned at her, enjoying the breeze, the passing clouds overhead that uncovered and resealed the light.

Cersei laughed, and skipped her way over the hills of grass, feeling the springy texture beneath her toes.

"I think we should get a kite," Jaime murmured, his words hardly heard against the arc of the wind.

"We're not twelve anymore, Jaime," she had a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh yes we are, for forever and ever!" he picked her up and twirled her around and around, her skirts swinging around them, and she laughed, giddy.

When he put her down, she held her sides, trying to make sure she caught her breath.

"We should walk down to the coast, see the rocks again," she suggested, taking his hand in hers.

They walked hand in hand toward the sunny coast.

The servants watching them through the encompassing windows of the Great Hall sighed as the beauty of the siblings.

"Aren't they so becoming? I knew they would do something special! Queen of Westeros! Lord Tywin must have been proud." a matron was overheard murmuring, a sense of pride in her own voice.

Maester of Casterly Rock, Artero sighed and looked at them as well. It had not been so long ago that Cersei's own green eyes had bewitched him as she had so many others. Ever dutiful, he had fulfilled his obligations as a maester, and had become a teacher and mentor to the Lannister children until they had become adults.

"_I don't have to learn the proper way to prune a Balsei tree do I? Not unless I already have one?"_ Cersei had asked mischieviously, obviously trying to get out of studying.

"_Knowledge is always there for the taking. If you are in a situation where such conduct warrants it, then I think it best to learn. Not all lessons are as simple."_

She had pouted, but recited the procedure like a good girl.

What lay in store for the Lannister children was as much a guess for himself as anyone. The fact that Jaime had sent word that they were coming less than two weeks ago hadn't given him much time for preparation, for he could only surmise what his talents would be used for , but he had to admit, it was nice having Lannisters back in their ancestral halls.

He had heard whispers, only a few, from the serving girls, about the handsome Ser Jaime, and raised voices in the study last night. He had shared a kind, wise word about keeping mouths shut, for he had seen only misfortune befall loose tongues at Casterly Rock, and he hoped that he would not have to witness more of the same.

He watched the Lannister siblings lope to the coast, disappearing in a sea of blue.

"I dare you to jump in!" Jaime shouted over the crash of waves.

"What? It's probably freezing!"

"I thought you were as fearless as a lion!" Jaime chided her.

Her lower lip jutted and she put both hands on his muscled arms. She arched on tiptoe for a kiss, and Jaime bent unhesitantly to give it to her, but she spung away from him, laughing, and ran for the shore. He growled and followed her. Her light dress danced in the breeze, showing her long, lean legs running as fast as they could carry her.

As gracefully as she dared, Cersei jumped into a wave, and felt the crashing splash of coolness wash over her in a spray of sea foam. She opened her mouth wide, shocked by the temperature, laughing at the same time.

"Gods, Jaime! It's cold!"

Jaime bent over, laughing. She looked like a wet cat!

Instead of teasing her mercilessly over being gullible enough to fall for the bait of the dare, Jaime dove headfirst into a wave, too, spurting sea water out of his overflowing mouth when he rose to the surface. They were both in just three feet of water, but with Cersei standing there laughing, and Jaime bobbing along, it was enough to get their feet wet, so to speak.

Until this point, the sun had been filtered through the clouds, but just then the sky opened up; at once the scene changed from a palate of greys and blues and greens to a rich array of yellows, golds, browns, and blues. Jaime grounded his legs beneath them and went after his sister.

"Come here," he said, pushing through the water.

"Oh no," she said, laughing and trying to run through the heavy water.

Being stronger, it was not hard for Jaime to grab her around the waist and thrust her back into the water.

"Jai-!" Cersei started, but didn't finish, disappearing beneath the waves. It didn't take long for Jaime to feel Cersei around his legs, testing him for a certain weakness. He pulled Cersei out of the water and to eye-level.

"Are you a shark now, too?" Her dark golden hair was plastered to her pretty skull, and her eyelashes glimmered with the sparkle of water. She spat water into his face and smiled.

"No, I'm a snark." She said, her voice low, barely above a whisper. Jaime reached behind her neck and brought her lips crushing to his, fueling the fire of his desire for her with her own. The sea pooled around their thighs, bringing her navy-blue dress to the top of the water.

When she smiled, with her soaking dress the deepest navy blue, encompassed by the aqua sea, her eyes absorbed the color, appearing cobalt.

They smiled at each other and mutually decided to leave the surf for now. It already felt like it was going to get colder and darker soon, weather for more determined beach-goers than they.

Shivering, they raced to the castle, trying to outpace each other, each longing for a hot bath, and talking heatedly about vast volumes of food.

Reaching the main entryway, Jaime pushed open the huge ebony doors, and ordered some freshly baked bread, jam, a tenderloin, fruit, and a host of other delicious delicacies. Traipsing down the hall, he mentioned it would be remiss if a hot bath were not drawn in the largest tub in the castle. The pale-faced servant hurriedly ran to do his bidding.

Cersei drew herself up, her feet padding lightly. She tried not to land droplets of seawater on the ebony marble from her drenched dress. She followed Jaime up the vast staircase that curled around the Great Hall, which led to the second floor, and into the master bedroom, to their destination: the largest and most luxurious bathing quarters in Casterly Rock. They warmed themselves by the large hearth-fire, stripping down to their small clothes and bouncing from foot to foot on the crimson carpet.

When she pulled the now-heavy navy dress from her figure, Jaime saw that the only under-garments she wore were what passed for tiny embroidered shorts and a thin, light cotton covering for her breasts held together with something like ribbon.

Jaime looked over her shoulder at the servants filling the bath and noted the number of servants. Cersei languorously strode past him, her golden hair dark with moisture and just reaching past the small of her back, and closed the door.

She turned back to him and motioned for him to sit on the hearth-rug, her eyes full of mischief.

Jaime was infinitely intelligent enough to do so, using both hands to position himself into a cross-legged position. Cersei elegantly dropped into a similar stance across from him. Her eyes glowed with inner fire.

"So."

"So." Jaime repeated after her, raising his eyebrows for a fraction of a second, testing the waters. He looked utterly relaxed, golden hair falling loosely around his lion face, just the tips of his white teeth shining in the semi-darkness. His shirt was off, tossed somewhere he was unlikely to find, and wearing just his breeches, the same ones he had worn the day before.

"We're rolling the proverbial dice, here." Cersei began, a slight smile playing on her lips, one exactly like the one Jaime had worn earlier.

"Yes," Jaime replied simply.

"You say you want to marry me," she murmured, a slight inflection cast on _me_.

Jaime swallowed. This might be the biggest moment of his life.

"I would like to marry you, Cersei."

"Funny how Cersei sounds like sister…" Cersei said, running a hand through her already curling hair.

"I think the real question here is whether you would like to marry me." Jaime said, slightly frustrated by her not taking him as seriously as he was taking her.

"I just meant, you know, we are brother and sister, how are we going to find a septon to wed us?" She shifted slightly, keeping her eyes on him.

"We'll find the same one that wed all the Targaryens. Do you consider yourself to be a religious person?"

Cersei smiled. "You know the answer to that question."

"Good. Then it will be easy. A septon with loose morals is never hard to find."

Cersei frowned. "I would not start my marriage with you on that footing."

Jaime rubbed his good hand over his face.

Cersei took pity on him. "You're just frustrated. Come here." She said, motioning to her lap. He sighed and put his head in her lap.

"We'll find the one that wed the Targaryens. I wonder if he's even alive," she mused. Jaime got up from her lap and met her emerald eyes with his. That moment, a servant opened the door of the bathroom, startling the couple.

The serving boy's eyes widened, and he gulped. Jaime wondered what they must look like, brother and sister scarcely clothed and in a moment of seeming intimacy. Cersei handled it well, though, with a well-trained look of utter loathing.

"I'll have you whipped the next time you open a door without knocking, you insolent boy."

The serving boy gulped. Cersei regally stood, bringing herself to her arresting height of five feet six inches. "I take it the bath is ready. Go."

The boy scampered off. She looked back over at her twin with a disarming smile. "Ready?" she asked sweetly.

Jaime's cock got hard in an instant, and he found his head swimming as he pulled himself to his feet. Cersei laughed, and led him to the opulent bathing room. Warm beige and milky white marble greeted them, enough candlelight in the room to light it, yet cast an enchanting glow.

Cersei turned to him, finally allowing her true colors to show. "Strip," She ordered him.

"Well," he said, quite pleased. When he pulled off his trousers, his hard cock bobbed up, throbbing with blood. His trousers were still at his feet when he looked at her through golden eyelashes.

"Mmm," she said, pleased. She crossed her arms, still clothed in her maddeningly simple undergarments.

"Will you show off a little for me?" she requested, her voice sweet, poignant with lust.

Slowly, Jaime's lips slid into a subtle grin, and he took the pants pooled at his feet and crumpled them in his large hands. He tossed them to her, watching her reaction.

Cersei caught the pants and brought them to her face, keeping her eyes on him as she smelled them.

Jaime extended his arms, and turned slowly around in a circle, allowing her to glimpse every inch of his body, from his golden hand, to his golden, tousled locks, to his perfect feet and muscled legs and torso.

Cersei licked her lips, not realizing she was commencing the action until she realized her lips were wet.

Finally, almost as though her action had inspired it, Jaime touched a finger to his mouth and gently closed his lips over it, sucking it.

Overcome with desire, Cersei walked over to him, grabbed his cock, and urged him into the adjacent bedroom, on top of the enormous bed, where she quickly disrobed, climbed on top of him and started riding him furiously, pumping him with her curved hips and arching back, her hair dangling over them as waves and waves of ecstacy washed over her.

After it was over, Cersei lay holding her brother in her arms, almost spellbound by the emotions that had been coursing through her.

_Have I ever truly known love, or have I ever only been playing games? Fear of losing everything I wanted most changed me, made me harder, and I was foolish enough to think it was a good change. But it only made things worse._

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had an actual friend besides Jaime. That thought was sickening.

But she realized that even if she had been cunning enough to realize the true importance of what she realized now, in the contests of power and fortune, it would have presented a weakness—however she would have been stronger because there was something _better_ besides the power of the throne to propel her.

Paranoia. The word was merely a word, but its connotations angered and excited her.

Steel ran through her spine, but she remembered her father Lord Tywin's oft repeated remarks to her,

"_Cersei. Calm down. No one can touch a Lannister, for they will always know our dogs at their backs."_ The thought comforted the part of herself that was upset, but all the same, her entire thread made her distraught.

Jaime could tell his twin was in distress by the way her face was suddenly paling and becoming harder.

"Cersei, what are you thinking? Snap out of it!"

Confused, Cersei cried and tried to chase away the terrible part of herself that had emerged once again, but that only made her cry harder.

Jaime sought to comfort his twin, bringing her close and stroking her hair. He murmured comforting words.

Wild-eyed, Cersei looked to him for answers. "Am I really such a terrible person?" She covered her face and tried to stem the tears.

Jaime's mouth dropped open, and he brought her closer. He kissed her fair head.

They passed the next few minutes in silence, waiting for Cersei's storm to run its course.

"I hate the person I've become," she said finally, calming. "What was it all for?" There was no good answer.

"Is that the person I am? Because I love who I am when I'm with you…"

"Then that is the person you are." Jaime said firmly, his tone indicating that there could be no other answer.

"But I know what I've done. I hope I know who I am, but I can't live with myself because I know what I'm capable of. I know I'm stronger than the average person by far, but can I live with myself and what I've done if I know I have you are at the end of it all? Because if that's the way it can be, then that is what I want."

Jaime smiled comfortingly at her.

He got up from the bed and extended his good hand to her to take. Shaken, she took it and when her feet touched the ground, it was as though a different, better person left the bed, though Jaime unselfishly was willing to let her know that she was alright no matter how she felt. The bathtub itself was enormous, big enough to fit ten people or more. Cersei extended a perfect foot into the tub and slowly sank into the steaming water to her neck and shoulders.

She looked at him as he got into the tub.

Seeing her like this made him feel strange, as though he couldn't help her. But Cersei made it simple by just kneeling close to him, so they were eye-level, looking him straight in the eye, and then slowly, hesitantly, pressing her hot, dry lips to his.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for the reviews guys! It's always great to see that someone has taken the time to comment on your work. Thanks again!_

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The next few days were boring, without much event to distinguish them. Storms passed through, illuminating the sea through dark grey clouds with great, bold flashes of lightning.

Castle inhabitants went about their daily lives, eating, gossiping, living. The Lannister siblings, for the most part, spent their time acting more and more like siblings. They played chess from time to time, reacquainted themselves with old friends, and, whenever they passed each other in rooms or hallways, imparted few words of a rather ordinary nature.

"_You need to try Royce's fried bread. I didn't know it could be better than it was in King's Landing, but he's got a knack for it…"_

Or…

"_Has mother's portrait always looked so dreary? Ugh."_

Few messages flew in from King's Landing. It was becoming apparent to the realm that for all intensive purposes, the child in Dorne and the one married to Margaery Tyrell were the only Lannisters to contend with as far as politics. From the lack of overtures received to her in Casterly Rock, it became clear to Cersei that the lords of Westeros were glad for the occasion of her forced retirement from court intrigues. She did not as of yet know if her castle would be stormed for reasons of vengeance. But Cersei, a Lannister to her core, also happened to know she had enough money to buy every citizen of Westeros ten times over.

Cersei was bent over a table in her father's study when Maester Artero knocked softly on the door. She waved him in and finished her last lingering looks at a map. Her friends, bought and paid for, were the richest and most powerful in the realm. They would not take a back seat if she summoned them.

However—the most powerful weapon in her arsenal was still the last card she would play if worse came to worse. She and Jaime would take as much gold as they could carry and sail across the narrow sea.

_Come and get me_… she thought ruefully.

When she looked up at her approaching maester, a sinister smile was still lurking on her otherwise normally artfully innocent lips.

"What are you thinking of now, child?" Artero sighed.

"Nothing, I promise you. My warring days are over."

"That's what Lord Tywin thought when he retired from being Aery's Hand. Now he's buried in the family crypt."

"My Father was murdered. I do not intend on having the same happen to me."

Artero merely shook his head. Cersei shivered with repulsion. "Do you mean to shake me to my core? What news do you bring? Make it quick."

"I bring you no news. That is the good news."

Cersei breathed. "Good." She didn't want to let on, but the thought of her enemies coming after her brought slivers of sweat banking on her fragrant arms and back.

"Now, my dear, what is your plan? What do you plan on doing now that you reign at Casterly Rock?"

"Well," Cersei fiddled with a writing utencil on the desk, as though she were wondering how to broach a certain subject.

"Do you plan on getting remarried again?"

Cersei's eyes widened but her eyes remained fastened to the pencil, a knot beginning to form in her stomach. _Had she ever really stood up for what she wanted?_

But it was so hard to form the words, because they were awkward and strange. What seemed like breathing when she was with Jaime was totally beyond the realm of most to comprehend.

_And did she want to be married again?_ Couldn't she just have children, and live with Jaime? Though in some lights it sounded optimal, as lady of Casterly Rock it was not feasible. If her children were to have any chance of being treated like Lannisters were wont to be treated, something would have to give. And she would rather own up to her choices than leave people wondering, people, in fact, who probably already knew what was afoot. Who was she fooling?

And… since it was worth thinking about, and since she was thinking about it in the current light that she was shining all her choices with… who would marry into their family, knowing without a fraction of a doubt that her children were Jaime's?

Crossing the sea with Jaime was sounding like a better and better idea every day…

"Any sensible ruler never mentions their plans until they are content with their choices. Isn't that right, Arterio?"

"Yes, my lady," Maester Arterio replied, pleased with her statement. _Never mind where it originated from._

"I tire of this. Get out." She said with some finality, wearied of the set of difficult choices before her.

"Just remember, my lady—your happiness should be paramount." Astonished, Cersei looked up at him, but by then, he was already sweeping out of the room.

Later that evening, she sat in the grand dining room to eat a simple dinner of lentil soup and drink a splash of Arbor red, when she glimpsed Jaime coming in from the stables.

"J!" she shouted, trying to catch his attention. Jaime passed the entryway to the dining room, then doubled back to see what the commotion was about.

He smiled. "What is it Cers? Oh, what are you eating? I'm fit to eat a horse as well as ride one."

"Oh, lentil soup and Arbor red. I can bring some out for you if you wish."

"That sounds fine to me," Jaime said, sitting down next to her. The big room echoed, it's immensity reflected in the high ceilings, the ornate chandeliers, the emerald drapes that billowed down from floor to ceiling. A distant fire roared at one end of the room.

Cersei rung a bell, and politely instructed the girl as to her wishes. When she was finished, she went back to her soup.

Jaime knotted his eyebrows expectantly. "So, fine sister, what happens to be the problem?"

"Nothing is amiss. I just wanted the pleasure of your company."

"Aww. You better cover yourself better, sis, cause there's bound to be something on your mind."

She looked up at him, a perplexed look on her angelic face.

"Come on. I was just goading you."

The lentil soup was brought out for for her twin, and he hungrily dove in. He used his left hand very well this time, only sloshing the thick liquid a little bit before bringing it to his lips.

When he had eaten enough to sate his hunger, Jaime wiped his mouth with a napkin and fixed his sister with a look as he reclined in his seat.

"Would you like to hear how my day was?"

Cersei smiled. "Sure."

"Well I began by waking up in the study. I must have fallen asleep reading 'The History of the Seven Kingdoms' last night."

"Have you read anything about the Andals?" Cersei asked, interested in her fated ancestors.

"I've just finished reading about the First Men. Honorable, and as old as Westeros. Though you know how I favor our family, sis." He smiled.

Cersei laughed, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. She thought she spied a servant in the hallway, so she kept the contact brief.

She wore a light green gown today, the neckline was square cut, to bring out the fullness of her breasts. The color made her eyes appear light and gay, and with her unbound hair falling loose past her shoulders, the look was simple, yet fresh. Jaime found himself enjoying his view of her well-formed breasts; they strained at the fabric of her dress in the most delightful way.

Cersei caught him looking and gave him a wry smile.

"You're in a good mood," Jaime commented, shifting in his seat to give her his full attention.

"It's not like you to be so… convivial," His fingers flashed beside his face as though to accent the unexpected nature of her attitude.

"Yes, I know. Odd, isn't it?" She said simply. She reached for his hand, and was surprised when he accepted her hand in his, grasping it and smiling at her through bemused lips. Part of her had not expected him to react so warmly to her.

"You know I love you, don't you?" He whispered softly, somehow knowing exactly what was going on. A look of recognition flashed across her face, as though she was startled that he had guessed, and guessed accurately. It pleased him all the more. He took her hand and kissed it, softly at first, and then with more passion.

As though she was absorbing his affection, Cersei remained fixated on his mouth, her lips parting slightly.

"I do," she said, her eyes downcast.


	7. Chapter 7

_Charlie, Whitney—you know who you are! I love you. Pray tell me what you think of this chapter…_

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Orbs of green lit the velvet night, pulsing with unknown mysteries and wonder; the spheres acquired a distance from him, fleeing in the direction of the distant midnight seas beyond the coast. Wishing to pounce, his being realized some force was pulling him back, a force edging the boundaries of his vision, something exquisite and neat that held him from completely engulfing himself in the vast throng of adventure that awaited him, from following the orbs that taunted him, tamed him.

Jaime woke up once again in the library, an empty crystal glass that once held Arbor red on the end table next to him. _My back, _he inwardly groaned, instantly feeling dancing tendrils of pain start in his lower back and shoot into his upper back. Stretching, Jaime tried to alleviate the pain, but it was the kind that was wont to stay at least for the next half-hour. _I'm not twenty anymore… _ Jaime lamented_._

Looking over at the book that had enraptured his attention for the past fortnight, he humorously found the wine stain of a glass on the front cover. _Well, at least I'm a celebrity in my own right. Maybe it will mean something to another Lannister down the line…_ he almost doubted it, but inwardly dismissed his assumptions one way or another, knowing that it was nigh impossible to predict the future. It was unfortunate to stain such a magnificent book however, so perhaps he could enlist Artero, sometimes known as Arterio, to relieve the cover of the book from his rather bad behavior.

The once-Commander of the Kingsguard stood up from his place, and went from the study to the master bathroom to clean himself up for the day, having gone to sleep wearing his riding clothes from his day roaming the acres upon acres of Lannister land that combed the coast and further, into the forests and glens south and west. He must admit it had been a habit of his from when he was very young to sleep in day clothes, to meander from one activity to the next, a good attitude keeping levity wherever he went. He welcomed the levity, but the clothes habit… He would much rather wear lighter clothes throughout the day, and sleep naked at night. Sleeping naked in Father's study (for it was _still_ somehow Father's study) sounded rather disreputable, but he found he had acquired a taste for that particular flavor.

When he approached the bathroom, he heard soft soothing sounds, like someone singing.

He lightly knocked on the door.

There was a light splashing sound, and he heard Cersei's distinctive voice.

"Who is it?"

Jaime opened the door and closed it behind him, leaning against the door as he surveyed his surroundings.

Pure, white light filtered through the narrow, high windows and into the taupe marble room, illuminating the steam that wafted off the hot water. Cersei lounged against the wall of the wash basin, a thin layer of bubbles floating on the still water. Her golden hair was gathered into a loose bun, softly curling tendrils hanging down her long, slightly flushed neck. Eyes as green as wildfire penetrated him as soon as the door snapped shut. She looked like she had been thoroughly relaxed. She now looked the slightest bit perturbed.

"Cersei." He said softly.

"Hi," she said in return. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the light.

Jaime breathed a sigh, and unbuttoned his shirt, gazing at his sister. Soon went off his trousers and socks, and he was naked, slipping into the tub on the opposite side, so as not to entirely disturb her, she who was as silent and still as he had ever seen her. The water felt exquisite, hot yet not scalding, and fragrant besides. He submerged his head underneath the water, and when he broke the surface, Jaime's hand scrubbed at his damp hair, thinking to release some of the oil and dirt that currently resided there. He reached for the ivory soap on a golden pedestal. Perfumed, it smelled of lavender and sage. He worked up a lather, and used it to scrub at his neck and shoulders, then, standing, covered his chest and his back in soap. He folded his legs beneath him, disappearing underneath the surface of the bathwater.

When he emerged again, Jaime took a moment to relax against the wall of the tub. Blinking the water out of his eyes, he combed his hair back from his face and looked at his sister to see if she had moved at all. She was now looking at him with something like affection and curiosity.

"Yes," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's nothing." She said, breathing a soft sigh once again.

"You must give me more than that." He said, gifting her with a smile.

"You know I don't have to. I can just sit here and enjoy myself." She said, mimicking his smug attitude.

Jaime shuffled closer, until he was right in front of her, and placed a small kiss right below her ear, following it with another one right next to her hairline. She closed her eyes, then gently pushed him away, smiling all the while.

Jaime pouted, then once again resumed his former activity, his hand and arm roaming her body beneath the water. This time she was unable to present any tangible defense against his seduction. Bringing his wounded arm up from the water, Cersei pressed light, delicate kisses against the inside of his forearm.

He made a throaty sound deep in his throat and gathered her in his arms, backing up slowly into the deeper part of the water; they seemed to float, and he subtly shifted his attention to the other side of her neck. Cersei tilted her head back and only dimly saw the ceiling through half-shut eyes.

Shifting his weight so he was sitting on the bench on the opposite side of the tub, Jaime positioned Cersei so she was sitting on his lap.

She softly murmured his name, trying to think straight.

He pushed wet tendrils of hair from her face, and fixed her with a comforting look that was still somehow sensual.

"I'm—I'm struggling. I've been combing my mind for, for possible scenarios in which everything we want to happen can. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm flummoxed."

"It has never been easy for us. I know that." His voice was husky.

"As do I. I can't bear the thought of being with someone else. That is what has tortured me, what keeps me awake staring at the mementos of our childhood, remembering the destruction our love has caused for both of us. If the solution is that the only way we can be together and circumnavigate the social circles of Westeros is if I have a husband, since we are coupling without protection…"

Jaime stiffened. "Well that's no solution. I want our children to know their father." He said, kissed the inside of her palm.

"Shall we dance the dance of a thousand lies, then?"

"I would rather not. We shall be together, and that is all either of us need to know."

"Is that so?" She tried not to make her words so cold, but she needed more strategy than that. It was too simplistic for her to grasp.

She said her next words softly but firmly, to better emphasize her point. "We shall be branded the black sheep of the Lannister family. Incest? That is all we need to make our family more hated by men and Gods alike. Even," she continued, her voice slightly grating, "if it is true."

He let her hand return gently to the water. "What have they ever done for you? Why would you sacrifice your happiness for a sociable reputation? Think carefully."

"You must know I'm right, somewhere in your heart." Cersei said, sitting still.

"Even if you are right," Jaime pressed. "I don't like it. And you should know that by now."

"I'm trying to have it both ways—I want to have you, and to be socially protected. There is no 'no' in this scenario, I desperately love you, and I—I'm trying. For me. For us."

Jaime smiled, and encapsulated her in his arms. "Well, then."

Cersei gave a small hint of a laugh, and brought a hand to his face, brushing his wet skin with her own. "Is it that easy?"

"It that is easy for _you_, yes." He clarified, enjoying the simple caress.

"Furthermore, I don't want to have to think for both of us. I want you to be right next to me, planning our next move."

"Fine. Whatever you want." He said, considering nuzzling her neck again.

"Seriously, Jaime," she said, pushing him away again.

"Please Cersei, just let me have you," he said, brushing her arms away.

She kept him within armspan of herself, and then leant forward to gently, ever so gently, coat her lips with his, deepening it slowly with a hint of her liquid tongue, the progression so slow and so intense, that they were wrapped around each other before the other one knew it.


	8. Chapter 8

_There is more than meets the eye. This is a simile that represents many, if not all, of the instances I have seen and experienced in my life. Hopefully you will agree when you read this next chapter._

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><p>Cersei drew back from her brother's naked embrace, smiling as she held out a hand, and ascended the smooth marble steps out of the tub. Jaime took her extended left hand in his and treaded through the heavy water and onto the steps. They left the bathing room, padding nakedly into the master bedroom. Jaime looked at Cersei, who fearlessly gazed back into his calculating eyes. Droplets of water slid down their bare forms, gathering and descending at will.<p>

Cersei fetched two white towels from a nearby gilded stand and dropped one at her feet. With her hair a dark, liquid gold due to the moisture captured within, her skin seemed all the more luminescent, the facets of her emerald eyes glowing as she knelt, unfolded the towel, and began to rub away the clinging droplets of water from her twin's ankles and feet.

Jaime groaned, already hard.

On her knees, Cersei used the cloth to absorb the water coursing down Jaime's hard, male body. Extending her arms, she allowed the cloth to travel up to his knees, then to his muscled thighs. She looked up at him with eyes that portrayed her naked lust. He looked up at the ceiling with veiled eyes, using his left hand to travel from his unseeing eyes to his flushed nipples.

Leaning back on her knees, Cersei lifted herself from the floor to tenderly dry her brother's torso, her movements deft and lingering; the towel absorbed the moisture and left behind sun-kissed golden skin lightly covered with peach fuzz. When she reached his strong shoulders, Jaime softly growled at her and yanked the towel from her experienced fingers, and did the same for her, though with marked ferocity and no hint of patience to provide for his actions. He rubbed up her lithe, strong calves, up to her wide, womanly hips, a strange look passing over his face, as though he were struggling not to give in to other, more sensual lusts, and instead worked his way up to her lightly muscled abdomen, and then, with marked gentleness, fondled her large breasts, his hand cupping her left breast with accustomed movements.

By this time, Cersei was panting with longing, and Jaime looked down at her with eyes that were dilated with lust—but he took a step back to gaze at her with appreciative eyes, blinking one or two times to really adjust his mind's eye view with what was truly going on.

Cersei was as beautiful as ever, perhaps more beautiful. Whatever calculating lines had once framed her face were now gone, replaced with a look entirely more serene. There was intention here, and no neglect. Here was the woman Cersei had seemingly been all along, and yet had not, and now _was_. Jaime had always thought of her as an extension of himself, a part of himself existing and living a life that he would have partaken in had he been a woman. He had been woefully wrong, unfortunately, for what had comprised his vision of how the world worked, together with the experiences he had gained in solitude and misery, now framed his view of the world, a world that didn't require cunning and guile to maintain it. Here was a woman reformed—_reformed?_ How could a woman like Cersei truly be reformed? Could a woman like her love him? Suspicions crept in.

Recklessly, Jaime dragged her to the bed and easily gathered her on top of him. She looked surprised, but gave in her own lust, positioning herself and putting him inside her. Undulating, her beautiful body seemed to take his breath away. It felt _so_ good to be inside her, to have his rigid rod pulsing inside of her as her hands roamed her breasts and belly.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, making her wet, golden hair shine ever so brightly. Jaime gripped her hips and brought her down fully on top of his member, and he heard her gasp. Feeling lightheaded, he released her and let her continue, laughter bubbling through her as she gathered her hair from her face and let it topple down her arching back.

Cersei's green eyes looked at him intently, and Jaime found himself licking his lips, groaning against the strain of keeping himself pure.

"Hi there," she said, leaning forward and letting her breasts lightly tickle his chest. Her wet hair fell from her back and onto his arm, another sensory explosion that barely left him intact.

He murmured something about another position, and she gave him a wicked look and turned around, letting his cock enter her, and giving him a glimpse of her beautifully muscled back, seen through her wet veil of hair. She looked at him over her shoulder and gave him a wink.

All the sudden, Jaime found himself releasing his seed inside her, groaning against the weight of keeping it in, groaning about letting it go, and crying out in ecstasy. Cersei bucked against him, and he felt waves of pleasure crash over him.

With a subtle thud, Cersei collapsed next to him and, despite being utterly exhausted, he urged her to nestle onto his chest.

The two spent a few minutes recuperating.

It did not take long for Cersei to languorously stretch and start getting dressed for the day. When Jaime protested, she merely gave him a _look_ and started rummaging through the wardrobes for something to wear. At Kings Landing, she had been particularly bent on being dressed by her servants; however it was a different story when she arrived at Casterly Rock. Being dressed by someone else seemed a tedious undertaking, and her maids hadn't arrived with her anyway, so the serving girls here did not know her accustomed method of dress. Instead, she selected a few choice garments and put them on herself, dressing her hair simply yet also without a great deal of finesse. She had had the best hairdressers in Kings Landing at her beck and call, men and women who carefully curled and tucked and tied her tresses in the most ridiculously showy fashions, so all the ladies of the court could try to mimic her awe-inspiring style. Now, her choices were limited: hair in a simple braid falling past the small of her back, her hair down and softly curling, or half-up. Sometimes she tucked a simple braid into the design. The more she thought about it, the more she desired perhaps a little instruction. But for now, she saw no need.

As it was, she knew Jaime much preferred her simple, yet elegant approach. A gown well-made, in the deepest, softest, emerald, would do perfectly. The less undergarments the better. One piece of jewelry, usually a jeweled pin or one of her mother's ruby necklaces, adorned her, enhancing the material of the dress, or the deeply faceted quality of her eyes.

When she turned around, having achieved the desired level of dress, she found Jaime snoring softly among the cushions. She smiled, tucked the covers around his drowsy body, and softly closed the door behind her.

She started down the hallway and down to the study, where she intended to draft a letter to her daughter, Myrcella. The thought that she was in Dorne, and engaged to the prince there quickly brought tears, unbidden, to her eyes. She knew it was necessary for her children to make marriages that would further the Lannister ties to the lords of Westeros, but when she remembered her children, she could still remember what Tommen smelled like when he was three, still just a babe with enormous eyes— Myrcella, her little lady who could talk and walk at a year and a half; her most potent memory at the moment was of Myrcella's pearly teeth shining as she exclaimed about some new discovery.

Cersei leaned against a column, her eyes shut. For once she did not care what she looked like to any passing person. Grief overtook her senses, as she felt like parts of her body had been ripped from her and taken to the farthest corners of Westeros.

"My lady, are you alright?" A passing serving girl said. Cersei realized the girl was standing directly in front of her, mahogany eyes searching for something Cersei could not give her. A fury passed over Cersei, but she realized it was useless to chastise this simple girl for something that was beyond her comprehension, whether she realized it or not. She rubbed away the tears from her eyes and composed herself.

"Yes, I'm fine." She muttered, walking around the girl.

She needed to find Artero, and ask for his advice. She sought out the maester's chambers, traveling down the staircase and through the gardens. But before she could reach the entryway to the other part of the castle, the very man she was looking for was, she found, standing right in front of her.

She tried not to look exasperated, and failed. "What have you been concerning yourself with, maester?"

He smiled, knowing her too well. "What are you worried about?" He motioned to a nearby bench. Cersei gathered her voluminous skirts and sat down, looking haughty.

"Are we further sequestered from the world? Don't think I haven't noticed no invitations to dinner parties and the like."

"Well, since you treasure my honesty, I am allowed to speak freely, yes?" She dipped her chin in a nod. He and Jaime were all she had in the world. "People are not knocking your door down, so to speak, because you were not popular as queen. And the circumstances of your leaving Kings Landing have not inspired confidence."

Cersei jumped to her feet. "What is the meaning of this? Do you seek to confuse me with your ridiculous candor?" She quickly started pacing, then realized how she must look, then hurriedly sat down again. She shot him a venomous look, then tried to still her huffing.

"I understand that you are not happy with what I have to say. But, my lady, the truth is never an easy meal to partake in. Take heart, for there is good that comes of this. Since no one wants to know how you are, and since rumors are flying about, attention is focused elsewhere. It is my opinion that you have nothing to fear, since the trials and travails of court and of the kingdoms prevail. You are safe as long as you do not try to interfere from Casterly Rock."

Cersei tried to contain her poisonous words.

"You are not immortal." He put a hesitant hand on hers, and tried to convey the wisdom of his words with a look.

Her heart was caught in her throat, and she had to look away.

"Lions never back down."

"If it is a battle not worth fighting, lions let the petty play their games while they look on."

It was advice Lord Tywin would have given her, and Cersei's emotions conflicted enormously. She wanted to cry, but was frustrated with her predicament. Abruptly, she got up and left, muttering a goodbye.

The tempest in her heart was raging, growing and changing. Cersei walked to the stables and instructed the stableboy to saddle the fastest horse they possessed. He did so, and Cersei climbed the lithe grey and white-spotted pony's back. She dug her heels into the sides of the poor creature and rode off into the heat of the day.

Wind roaring, hair lashing, galloping, the tall grass became eclipsed by rocks, then sand. Tears appeared on her cheeks, merging with the sea air, the spray of the ocean. When she reached a stopping point, Cersei tied the sturdy little pony to a wooden post and approached the sea. Clouds churned, deep grey, white, and black.

She wanted to scream, but instead crumpled into a ball.

_What was it all for? _

_Am I just left here—I am here and I am living, unlike my son and father._

She looked up, eyes scanning and merging with the changing tide.

_Does it even ever really matter, and am I just a fool? _She was a fool in so many ways she couldn't count them, now that she bothered to try.

Suddenly weary, Cersei untied the horse and climbed on the saddle. She headed back in the direction of Casterly Rock.

When she entered the stables, she saw Jaime. His eyes looked troubled, and he extended his arms for her. He seemed to know exactly what was going on, and his emerald eyes mirrored her own conflict. Her lower lip trembled, and she ran into his arms, and he engulfed her. She felt so tiny and perfect with him. He felt warm and good, and everything, from his strong embrace, to his breath, to the way he landed tiny kisses on her hair, was what she needed.

Tilting up her chin, her lips found his, touching his with no hint of conflict, just feeling his sweetness, taking it for her own. He responded immediately, kissing her just how she needed to be kissed.

When her feet touched the ground, for Jaime had lifted her into his arms to better engulf her being with his own, she still felt light-headed.

The red-headed stable boy gawked at them.

So many tumultuous memories flooded her, that Cersei reacted exactly as she had always wanted to react. She smiled politely, took Jaime's hand in hers, and walked to the kitchens with him, explicating exactly what she wanted for supper.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Arlaen: When I read that this story had you in tears… it really, truly motivated me, because I know that feeling quite intimately. Thank you so much. You produced quite a reaction in me, and this chapter has a lot to do with your review. _

_Fuckyeahlannisters: Dude… fuck yeah Lannisters. You rock._

_Kkst: Thank you for your analysis. I agree with your point of view on Cersei's prophecy. Because as it becomes untrue, she sends herself in a tail-spin. She's at war with herself and yet that's right where she wants to be… :)  
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_Rianca: Wow. Thank you. I truly like how objectively and yet effusively you wrote about how you feel. I am just… so happy that you like it. _

_On with the story- enjoy! Sorry you had to wait so long… I didn't know how everyone was enjoying it so much! Thanks amigos.  
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><p>For the first time in many nights, Cersei found Jaime in her bed, his curls tousled boyishly around his youthful, well-sculpted face, his cherubic mouth sealed shut as though with a kiss. She leant forward further enclose his mouth with hers, to solidify the notion with her own initiating actions.<p>

Cersei slid nakedly under the covers and brought them around them both. When she slept, eyes closing after the eventual progression of restless thoughts of a day spent in speculation, her dreams unfurled like a scroll of memories. Her visions began with her as a little girl again, hair long and tumbling over her back, scribbling at a desk in a tower. A younger Artero was bent over her, his beard a light brown streaked with dark silver, and his not yet arthritic fingers on the parchment in front of her, instructing her through movement on how to induce better flourishes with the loops of her cursive. She heard him laugh stridently, backing up out of her line of sight, and something about it made her cringe.

As though it too were a memory, she witnessed a liaison occur between Jaime and a poor serving wench with russet hair. It happened on a few sacks of flour in a back room, and she felt like she was witnessing it all. Afterward her brother approached her and confessed what had happened, but the anger she felt surged toward him, uncomprehending and vehement. _How could he come back to my bed? How could I ever forgive him?_ Something about him seemed jaunty, but she couldn't focus on him, she only saw Jaime and the wench coupling, again and again, freshly each time, herself strangely aroused, angry and horrified. The juxtaposition of her tumultuous emotions jostled her awake while the moon was still fresh in the sky, heat flooding her cheeks.

When she looked over, she saw that Jaime was still asleep, and completely innocent of whatever accusations she could bring before him. Cersei took a moment to calm herself, breath slowly returning to normal. She tried to curl up next to him and go to sleep.

Morning broke, and Cersei rolled over in the bed, having lightly slept since her disturbing dream. Something lurched in her stomach, and she found herself sprinting to the wash basin, where she quickly bent over, upending the contents of her stomach. After it was done, she still felt queasy, and so she sat on the floor next to the basin, and tried to still the spinning room.

Jaime stirred, and put his hand out on the bed where she had been only minutes before.

"Cersei?" he said, searching for her.

"Here," she muttered from her place on the floor.

He yawned and sat up, stretching. She could almost see his phantom hand performing the same action as his good one. The imaginary image made her head spin, and she leaned against the wall.

He looked at the used washbasin, then at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Bh." Was all she could manage.

"Are you sick?"

"Bh." She was feeling better, slowly but surely. The room had ceased to spin, and she had found the pitcher of water and poured herself a glass. For an instant, Cersei had half a mind to give him a dose of sarcasm, but she simply wasn't feeling up to the task, a fact which slightly bothered her.

Her eyes were closed when she heard the next words from her brother. "Are you… with child?" He sounded stunned.

"Gods," Cersei managed, before she dry-heaved some more into the basin. What was now happening was similar to how her mornings had begun when she was pregnant with Myrcella and Tommen. She edged aside the basin, feeling some sense of propriety returning. Cersei achieved her height through a matter of strength. When she was standing fully upright, she made sure to look down on her twin with some distain.

"Of course not," she said, wiping her mouth. She warily edged around the door, and found herself in the doorway.

Before she could completely escape, Jaime jumped out of bed and spun her around and in his arms, carrying her to the bed.

"You are not going anywhere,"

"What are you talking about?" she replied, still slightly disoriented. She struggled a little, making her breasts jump ever so enticingly through the thin red shift. It was interesting that he still felt attracted to her having seen her elegantly, though definitely, throwing up. He laid her down on the bed, and quieted her by turns through the motions of silent threats, and the gentle chastising of an interested party. After he was significantly sure of the fact that she would not go bounding out of sight, he called for the porter. It occurred to him that a pair of breeches would do him some service.

When the man arrived, Jaime was suitably dressed in a linen shirt, untucked, that fell to just below his waist, and some black breeches he had found stuffed in a chest (thank the Gods for the random assembly of clothes he and Cersei had found thus far in their ancestral home; he much wondered how many of the previous Lannisters were clotheshorses.)

Jaime stepped outside the door.

"Hello," he smiled toothily, looking quite dapper despite his slightly dressed down attire.

"I need a bath drawn in the bathing room, with candles, incense, and fresh towels. In the bedroom, which is behind me, I need the room aired and cleaned while my sister bathes. I also need an assortment of fruit. As I recall, my sister loves fruit, and far be it for you to deny her, yes?"

Jaime let a small laugh escape before he continued. "And I would also like some fresh beer brought up for myself. Bread, maybe a filet mignon. And fresh cream. Fresh butter and milk too, and I'm talking about just milked and made this morning. Is that alright?"

The porter, a man of some twenty years, nodded mutely.

"Where's your father? I'm used to seeing him and not you." Jaime cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.

"He's just finishing up with some instruction in the kitchens, my lord." The youth said, his pulse apparently racing.

"Well, as long as it's just you or him, I am quite satisfied to see _just you two_ you when I call." He smiled. "Now go, I need these things immediately."

When he returned to the boudoir, he saw Cersei bent over the sink, scrubbing her teeth with intent. She wiped her mouth and went to him.

"Jaime," her voice was broken. She hugged him around the waist, as though he were her anchor. The feel of her, all warmth and silk and lush flesh against him, was almost more than he could bear. He could already hear servants in the lavatory, filling the bath. Even if it took twenty servants, the soonest the bath would be ready would be approximately fifteen minutes. He and Cersei had some time.

He sat down on the bed next to his sister and stroked her matted hair. "May I?" he requested, motioning to the brush on the ancient wooden dresser. She nodded, brushing the moisture from underneath her eyes.

He gathered her flaxen tresses in a fist just above the ends, and started coaxing the tangles from the ends of her hair. Within moments, the brush was descending from her crown to the small of her back, Cersei's hair moving fluidly beneath the boar bristles with the uncompromising structure of a river.

"There now," he murmured, his voice husky with familiar warmth.

Cersei looked over her shoulder at him, the curtain of her hair only partly concealing her face. Eyes with fires of shifting yellow and green consumed his gaze, for there was something lurking there not unlike fear, danger, and impending desire. Her arms encircled him, pulling him on top of her, her rudimentary shift easily bunched around her slender toned thighs.

With actions complicit in the knowledge that the bustling and banging in the next room were indeed the movements of servants arranging and filling the bathroom with salts and candles, Jaime pulled his thin linen shirt over his head and pulled down his breeches, moaning against her mouth as he surged out of his pants and put himself inside her. Cersei gasped and arched her back like a cat in heat, loving the sudden intake of pleasure.

Jaime pumped inside her, kissing her shoulder, then biting it, loving her reaction to the pain and pleasure he was causing her. Her beautiful breasts bounced with every thrust, and her face became flushed, eyes breathtaking behind their veil of long golden lashes. Cersei writhed beneath him, tossing to and fro, golden hair a vast soft blanket beneath her angelic profile.

Cersei loved it, the feeling of him, the closeness of him, the intimacy, needing him making those perfect short breaths and gasping against her as he tried to contain himself.

"I think I'm pregnant," she sighed against him.

He came inside her when he heard those words, so powerful and romantic were they to him, knowing who she was, that she was finally his, his queen, his princess, his beauty.

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><p>Okay. So there's more after this. More plot, more stuff happening. What can I say? They just don't quit, those two. Thanks again for your reviews. I couldn't have done it without you.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I'm sorry for the wait! Thank you for your comments. It has taken longer to get this chapter out because I have moved! Please enjoy!_

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><p>As she was slipping outside the door of her current quarters, an agile hand reached out and pinned her against the cold, hard rock. Barely a squeak escaped her throat, and as more pressure was applied, and the complicit party emerged before her, she decided it would be better for her to refrain from any sound at all.<p>

Jaime's cat-like eyes searched her face, his head cocked slightly to the side. An inherent quality he possessed cleverly filtered and acknowledged every truism about her, and that quality somehow always, always irked her. _Those looks. _She could discern them in the perceptive eyes of Tyrion (whenever she bothered to get to eye level) and recall the same look flashing whenever her father was measuring her, just before he reminded her with careful appraisal of her shortcomings. Different facets of the same look…

Jaime decided launching into a memory would be the best way to unsettle the semi-frustrated look on his sister's face. "Remember when you were just… gods how old were you?" Jaime bit his lip and searched his mind. Awry strands of hair caressed her face. His profile was only an inch or so away from her, and his breath smelled faintly of cardamom.

"You don't really think you'll be able to control my every move, do you?" she asked forthrightly.

He made a little sound, exhaling out of nose; it was a sound of endearment, as she recognized it. He raised his eyebrows.

"You are exhausting. But I would like to help you if I can, especially since…."

"I am _not _pregnant. I just had a bad dream last night." Her lower lip protruded in a pout. She then remembered herself and rose her chin haughtily. _What was she thinking? Arguing with him was less than worthwhile._

Jaime let silence finish the task of changing the subject. "There's something about you," he reminisced. "At first you chased me. Remember?" He thought about caressing her face, but he had a good hold on her still, and he might as well keep it that way.

She scoffed. "You have a penis. Don't pretend you hadn't looked at me before."

"Cersei," he sighed.

She blinked a few times, trusting him to continue with his thought.

He drew himself up and placed his injured wrist behind her back, bringing her from the wall and to him. "There's more to this story than just blinding good looks, you know that, right? It wasn't just that you have always been a charmer, or that privilege looks good on you. Your spirit is so uncrushable, it's damned near interesting. And I think that even if your spirit was crushed, you'd still be breaking my heart."

Cersei was silent.

"I'm pretty much a fool for you… but you knew that already, didn't you?"

"Why do you have to be so—" she sputtered.

"There." He swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom, where they could be blessedly alone.

After swinging open the necessary doors, he released her from his grasp, stripped the shift from her body, and then picked her up again, where with rudimentary movements he put her in the tub. There was enough of a distance from the surface of the water, that she promptly yelped and disappeared beneath the water momentarily. When she emerged, she was sputtering and spitting water all over him.

"Jaime!" she cried.

He sat next to the tub and looked at her with a lazy, happy look.

After a moment, Cersei took a look around herself and began to relax. Jaime was smart, for all the other things he was, and he knew how to set a mood. Candles, incense, and vials of soap, oil, and conditioning agents were arranged pragmatically on a shelf on one side of the bathtub. Steam rose from the water.

Returning to the conversation that Jaime had begun earlier, Cersei found it interesting to ponder. "Well, you're right. I did chase you. You reminded me…" She trailed off. He reminded her of Prince Rhaegar, but since she could not possess Prince Rhaegar, she had settled for the next best thing. Such a childish mind to possess such ambitions! It was remarkable that at the age of fourteen that even though passerby somehow found the inclination to tell her, if not with voice, with eyes, how pretty she was; she had not truly believed it until she experimented with its effect.

At first, it was just a sprinkling of looks that she used to get her way. She used it first with Arterio, a safe target.

"_Could you get me those pencils off that shelf? I'm ever so clumsy when I'm on that stool." She had murmured, blinking her wide eyes in the picture of what she conceived of as innocence._

"_Of course, Cersei," he had replied, looking slightly taken aback. Usually her mannerisms comprised of being gruff and demanding. He retrieved the pencils for her with but a blink._

That moment had been imminently pleasing to her.

In playing the game, Cersei began to realize that whenever she wanted something, she got it. Her childish methodology inherent to her age, she was still able to understand that unless she was utterly careful to portray her _sincerity_ in actions and words, that the object of her attention could sense something was amiss (particularly if they were well-acquainted.) When that happened, it was always better to beg off and pretend another game, whether it be that she suddenly "saw" something over their shoulder, or instead asked a cursory question that reminded the person of something entirely different.

By turns, Cersei chose her next target after extended thought and with the impulsive anger that made her actions real. She chose Jaime for the same reasons she now found him irritating: he was now completely immersed in the field, playing knightly games, consumed with parrying partners, steel-plated armor. Even as she was sewing, surrounded by ladies in waiting, she envisioned him with every pierce of her needle—Jaime riding _her_ favorite horse because his had apparently broken a shoe…Jaime laughing with the steward of the stables, engaged in the gradual process of practicing and expanding his repertoire of jokes that he would use in later years to cajole men in the field.

Father loved Jaime, and found more uses for him, rather than for his daughter. Jaime was often called upon to relay some joke, and thereby get his hair mussed. As a lady, Cersei was not available for candid such displays of affection. As Cersei grew taller, and her breasts began to bud, her father looked at her more and more distantly, as though he were bracing himself for some eventual pronouncement that would change their dynamic.

"_Jaime!" She cried. She was wearing a dress of dark, deepest jade, with crescents of gold woven intricately into the bodice. Her hair was a spill behind her, immaculately brushed to maintain the buttery softness that she loved to wind around her long fingers. _

_The golden youth in question was in the middle of the training yard, presumably conversing with the blacksmith on how to get the perfect blade (whether it should be reinforced folded steel or if dragonglass could be woven in as an alloy) when he perchance saw her perched on the fence, waving rapidly to capture his attention. His eyes glided over her. 'Oh, my sister.' _

_Cersei trembled with frustration. "_Jaime!" she cried again. __

_Mildly, Jaime put up his hand to the man he was engaged in talking with, probably apologized, and used slow, disciplined movements to approach her. Cersei could hear his heavy boots thudding in the mud. She removed herself from the railing, and pushed her skirts aside so no errant droplets of mud would imbed themselves in her skirts._

_He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms when he came close enough to her to see the look in her eye. _

_Cersei's eyes narrowed. "_I'm demanding that you ride with me today. Father wants to make sure I don't fall off my horse—he's worried about me." Her voice sounded forbidding and yet unsure.__

"_Cersei…" Jaime breathed out. _

_She put her hands on her hips.__ "I need to practice my jumps. Do you say yes?"_

_"_I was going to practice my swordplay today, I would have to cancel, and that doesn't look good to Ser Brighton…"__

_"_Never mind that! I need you to help me. And do you think I could borrow some of your clothes?" __

"_Cers, no. The last time, we got caught and I can't let you do that again."_

_Cersei sniffed again and looked down, the picture of forlorn grace. _

_"_Hey, Cers, it's ok. I'll help you." He jumped over the fence with agile grace. She took a couple of steps back to allow for him to have space. __

_She did genuinely want to get better on her horse, though there were no ladies who were better. She just wanted to be as good as Jaime. She took a hesitant step forward, toward him. Crumbling, she collapsed against his arms and began to cry very softly and sweetly. His neck was the only place she could safely put her face, so she made contact with his skin there._

"_Father thinks I'm hopeless. He never…" she whispered, her breath warm._

_ _Visions of father swam before Jaime's eyes, his angular face cold, the gold flecks in his green eyes damning; Jaime looked down on her, and saw that Cersei's eyes were tightly shut. __

"_Will you help me? I want to be good." She could feel Jaime's ungloved hands on her back._

"…_Yes," his eyebrows knotted in dismay and concern. _

_She folded her lips together, then released them, disengaging herself from his embrace._

"_Thank you, Jaime. I'll see you at four o'clock, here. Don't be late."_

_Jaime was standing still. "Yes, of course." His emotions were jumbled. _Cersei_?_

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><p><em>Please review!<br>_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I, like Jaime, am late! I apologize. Enjoy!_

_Thank you so much for the reviews! It always keeps me coming back, and I am so blessed to have readers who also enjoy this little universe.  
><em>

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><p><em>Late. Jaime was late!<em>

_Shifting her weight from one foot to another, Cersei reluctantly scanned the horizon once more, her mouth parting in a subconscious sign of exasperation, letting out an exhalation of breath. The sun was beginning to lower in its traditional dance out of the sky, and it's heat had long since pierced through her layers upon layers of lady's clothing. The embers of her frustration ignited at once, sparking into a fiery flame, and she gathered her ankle-length skirts in her hands and acted as though to haughtily remove herself from the situation, when she suddenly tumbled face first into a stranger. He caught her and tried to help her to her feet, but once vibrant with anger, it had become nigh impossible to quench, and she lightly slapped the man who had gotten in her way._

_Blinking hard, she realized it was none other than her damnably late twin brother, at last arriving on the scene moments after she had decided he was not coming after all. _

"_What are you doing here?" She said, realizing how foolish she must sound only after the words had left her lips._

"_I—"_

"_Well, it took you long enough," she grumbled at once, cutting him off. The pearls on Cersei's emerald cap caught the sunlight and reflected the glow in Jaime's eyes._

"_Allow me get the horses." Jaime supplied, and soon disappeared into the stables, returning minutes later with a bay mare and a smooth, white stallion whose mane glimmered in the sun._

_Tying his mare to the fence, Jaime offered his sister a hand up; a hand she accepted only after her faceted eyes penetrated his with an intentional lack of emotion. Putting her foot in his hand, she mounted the horse, grasping the reins, which had been tied around the saddle horn._

_Jaime had no problem mounting his mare and guiding his horse toward Cersei. Before he could ask her where she wanted to go, she lightly kicked her horse and with a cry was galloping off in the direction of the coast. Slightly agitated, Jaime whistled to Lady, his horse, and started off fast behind Cersei, the motion of his horse jostling his vision in his quest to match her speed._

_He followed her up and down winding hills, along a dried creek bed, and descending down into the forest, his steed thundering behind the long white tail of Cersei's horse. The smooth, refined muscles of her horse, Knight, could be attributed to his magnificent bloodlines, built with years upon years of careful cultivation of strong, robust, warhorses. His own mare, Lady, was fast and light, and of a bloodline parallel to Knight. As she was regularly chomping at the bit, he recognized that she could easily overtake Knight, (a fact Lady probably knew as well) but for now, he was curious as to where Cersei was leading them, and so he did not trigger the reaction from Lady that would have transformed this little race into a speed and endurance trial._

"_Are you ready?" Cersei said over her shoulder, her voice half lost to the wind._

For what?_ He wondered._

_She slowed to a stop at a spot in the forest near a pond. Sunlight sprinkled through the trees and onto the short, springy grasses that covered the glade. It was a fine spot for some sparring, Jaime thought._

_Once she had hopped off her horse and arranged her various petticoats and skirts, Cersei tied Knight to a low hanging branch, making a very loose knot so he could graze at his leisure. Jaime mirrored the motion, but instead of tying her, he let her graze near the pond. Lady would not get in his way, and could respond when called to._

"_So," Jaime said, once he had cracked his knuckles. _

"_You're going to show me how to spar."_

"_You led me out here so we could ride. Sparring is a different matter."_

_Cersei narrowed her eyes._

"_Careful now, you could get crows feet like Lady Trinital, glaring like that."_

"_Shut your mouth and show me how to spar."_

"_That's not very ladylike language."_

"_Will you quit?" She seethed, and threw a punch._

_Jaime quickly dodged the punch and countered with a throw; she was upended and landed on her back, amongst the leaves._

_They both caught their breath, he standing over her, she on the ground._

"_You…" she coughed._

"_I didn't mean to hurt you, but you were asking for it."_

_Tears of unexpected pain rose in her eyes, but her only rebuttal was in raising her hand for a help up. He supplied the necessary hand._

_Regaining her feet, Cersei angled her body so he was only seeing half of her, her silhouette. Jaime decided she had done far more watching in the pen than he had originally suspected, a thought that surprised him as much as it delighted him._

"_Well?" He waited for her first move, maintaining a light foothold in case he had to move with alacrity._

_Errant leaves hung in her golden curls, which unfurled down her shoulders and bodice. Cersei's emerald eyes attempted to study him and anticipate his next move at the same time. She threw and almost landed a punch at his stomach, but Jaime quickly leapt back to remove himself from the movement. She edged closer to him, keeping her fists at eye level. This time she tried to throw a punch at his face, which Jaime, thankfully, had the grace to dodge._

"_Maybe we should start on some principles, now that you're good and warmed up."_

_Cersei mutely nodded, and sat on the blanket of grass. She made a half-hearted attempt to arrange her skirts, but she was not so interested in her dress as she was in the current moment._

_Sitting across from her, Jaime steadied his breathing and recounted some of the things that his mentor had once taught him._

"_To begin with, your breathing technique is going to help you facilitate your bodily resources. For instance, come stand with me." She obeyed, standing in place. Jaime moved to put his hand on her stomach. Cersei looked up at him._

"_You will need to start breathing through your solar plexus. This will enable you to not only project your voice, but also to filter your energies upward. If you only use your upper torso to project movements, your voice, etc, you're only using half of your possible energy." Jaime removed his hand._

_Cersei took a breath, but could only manage to inhale into the upper part of her lungs. After a few more tries, she quickly diagnosed the problem._

"_The corset I'm wearing—it's hampering my breathing."_

"_So you're… of course. That makes sense. Let's get it off you then." Jaime moved forward to help, but soon realized he was out of his depth in terms of the amount of strings and fastenings. _

_Cersei dropped one after another dainty, delicate instrument of torture onto the ground before she stood before him in a simple shift, which was what remained after the bodice, outer skirts, and stays had been eliminated._

"_Okay, try to breathe from your abdomen again." Jaime put his own hand on his belly to provide a visual illustration of what he meant._

_Placing her right hand on her solar plexus, Cersei began to perform the breathing exercises her twin had begun moments before, and they practiced inhaling and exhaling together. She became almost giddy from the abundance of oxygen she was now able to receive._

"_This should establish a good basis for some of the exercises I'm going to show you. Now let's get into position. I saw that you have a good understanding of showing a slender profile to your opponent, but now I want to focus on how you're using your feet." Once more, Jaime approached his twin, now drawing her attention to her feet, clad as they were in sable slippers with leather laces._

"_You're going to be using two basic movements: stepping forward and backward as you advance and retreat from your opponent, and also sliding your feet, which can occur in any direction." He looked up at her and waited for her nod, which came quickly._

"_Now, using the techniques I have shown you, I want you to acquire a sense of balance. Your knees should be flexible. You should feel the strength of your breathing become the center of your balance, and you should ideally be ready to move in as many directions as possible."_

_Next, they practiced exercises in which Jaime watched Cersei move forward, backward, and from side to side, using her breathing technique and her balance to guide her. When he was finally satisfied (after about forty-five minutes) he said it was around time for them to return home._

_Looking up, Cersei could see that twilight was fast approaching. She mounted her horse while Jaime whistled for his mare. They galloped off to the castle._

_When they finally arrived (for the shadows of approaching twilight had played tricks on them as they wove their way back), it was time for dinner. Jaime and Cersei's father and little brother were already at the table in the ornately grand banquet hall. Cersei could tell from the silence that the meal was not going terribly well._

_Jaime and Cersei sat next to each other, across from their brother, Tyrion, with the male twin next to his father, who sat at the head of the table._

"_Hello children." Tywin's voice boomed. "Where have you been?"_

"_Riding," Jaime answered nonchalantly. Appetizers of meat and cheese were placed before the twins. Hungry from the earlier exertion, Jaime helped himself to the slices of cheddar, manchego, and salami. Cersei was also hungry, but tried to make her hunger look like ladylike picking at her plate, adopting her usual pretty but uninvolved look that never seemed to draw too much attention to her. _ And why should I truly be worried? _She thought with obstinacy._

_Tyrion looked, to put it lightly, unhappy. Jaime cast a worried glance at him. He had been outfitted with a booster seat so his arms could be level with the table. Eyes of green and black stared at his half empty plate with a terrible sadness and intelligence. Jaime had been able to spot his brother's predicament as the youngest sibling possessing the most disabilities, as also being the most intelligent of them all. He sometimes, only sometimes, allowed himself to feel truly sorry for him, for he knew it was an emotion that little Tyrion would never have approved of._

"_Tyrion," Jaime murmured, "could you pass the pepper?" He took his chance to give his little brother some encouragement through the warm look in his eyes. Tyrion spotted it, and slid the pepper over with enthusiasm._

_Jaime dashed the pepper over his last remaining slice of salami, and slid it into his mouth with finesse. _

_Next, their main course was served: lamb shanks served in a young red wine broth with lima beans and sautéed greens as accompaniments. Usually Cersei desired lighter fare, but tonight she was glad to see the mixture of protein and greens. The rest of the meal was eaten in mostly silence. When Tywin was finished, it was not his wish to linger. He gave his twin children affectionate smiles, then stood back to deliver a message._

"_Children, I will be returning to King's Landing within the next few days. King Aerys needs me to conduct his affairs, and I might have stayed overlong out of his presence." He let silence reign and then continued once more; "Perhaps I will be allowed to bring you to Kings Landing one of these days." He gave them a warm smile, and soon adjourned._

_It was news that felt both good and bad—on one hand, they would not have to meet the rigorous standards that their father had made for them since the day they were born, and on the other they would not have the protective presence of a man who obviously felt an inordinate amount of feeling for them, including Tyrion, for Tywin's love for him was not entirely black and white._

_Cersei sighed and slid her chair back, leaving the room and heading for her quarters. It had been an eventful day. She had learned many new things, things she would have to practice whenever she was alone or hopefully engaged in another lesson with Jaime. As for her schemes to control her brother… that would come in time, she asserted to herself. When she reached her room, she motioned for a nearby maid to help her undress, and within minutes she was in bed, with but a lone candle to light the vastness of her quarters._

I wonder what tomorrow has in store for me?


	12. Chapter 12

_::Weeks Later…::_

_._

_._

_._

_He's not paying enough attention to me! _

Cersei's lower lip jutted out and she crossed her arms with the semi-perpetual nagging expression that was somehow adorable and abominable to those she loved. Jaime noticed this and put down his sword, which had lately been swung in perfect symmetry with his proposed imaginary target.

"What?" He wondered aloud, slightly perturbed by her expression.

"Well?" She replied, lifting her eyebrows.

Jaime was slightly confused, but endeared himself to her by happenstance. He walked to her side and placed his gloved hands on either arm in an attempt to comfort her. She walked out of his half-embrace and gazed at him with eyes angered and misting.

"Would it do you too little credit to teach me more?"

"More of the sword?"

"To put it lightly, yes." She answered, though she had no appetite for swinging any sword.

"Do you like my sword?" Jaime joked, cheerful vigor a cadence trilling through his voice.

"Maybe," she said, shyly, kicking a pebble with her foot.

Jaime sighed. "What, exactly, pleases you about swords? What pleasures you to learn of them?"

"It pleasures me because something that requires expertise requires a worthy person to pursue it." Cersei retorted hotly.

She looked quite cute, her face reddened with the excuse of languid heat and his sudden,relentless teasing, Jaime thought to himself.

_Cute? She's my sister! _Jaime recoiled at his earlier, unbidden, thought. Though he had to admit that his twin sister possessed a certain charm, she was so close in proximity, age, indifference, and experience to himself, that any meaningful observations about her talent, wits, or beauty were successfully trumped.

"You're a terrible brother. Any _good_ brother would have eased my vexed mind by now." She tilted her head to the side. "You are boring and lame." She spat.

"Take that back," Jaime said, truly offended by her choice of words. "I am NOT lame." His grip on the sword in his hand increased.

"Lame, lame, LAME." She observed scathingly. Cersei was still apparently stung by his ignorance of her earlier (it was alarmingly presumptuous of her to think she was the only important thing in his life), but Jaime wasn't thinking such rational thoughts just then, and the most powerful thought that crossed his mind was whether or not to beat the rationale into her.

Livid, he ignored her more, refusing to give into her strange mood. He practiced his exercises with such accurate precision, had his tutor been there, the man would have applauded.

Cersei stormed into his line of sight, charging him. Jaime dropped the sword scarcely in the nick of time, and they fell to the floor together, propelled by Cersei's seemingly unstoppable onslaught.

"You," she breathed into his face, upset by his obvious lack of interest.

"What do you want from me?" He said in mock answer, pushing her off of him to better catch his breath.

That was the last thing he should have said, Jaime realized too late, when he saw his sister's face crumple.

"I want NOTHING from you!" she whispered fiercely, before dashing away, her skirts flaring in the sudden gust of wind. Jaime sat on the floor, silently terrified of the emotions flooding his mind.

…

"She's just a child," Jaime muttered to himself, walking to the library to console himself.

"You're just a child," a voice murmured from the shadows. Jaime was struck with fear.

"Come out now," Jaime whispered, his normally friendly voice edged with disgust.

But there was nothing, and no one, and Jaime wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. He stalked down the hallway, further angered and yet calmed by the strange revelation that forced him to think more astutely of his emotions.

…

Jaime woke out of a silent dream in the middle of the night, finding his sheets wrapped around him like a vise. He plied his way out of them, and rubbed his face as if doing so would enable him to gather his wits.

On a whim, he put on a loose shirt and some tan linen slacks, before looking in the mirror. The action compelled him to remember why he had been so upset earlier. He hated to gripe with Cersei, and she was far better at holding a grudge than he had ever been.

He stole down the hallway to her room and was surprised to see that her door was not entirely closed. Clandestine golden light filtered through the slight crack. He peered in.

A vision of flaxen curls cascaded down her bare torso as his sister writhed on the bed. Gold caressed her creamy uplift of breasts and her lean torso, descending to her nether regions. She arched her back as her fingers danced on Venus mound, giving way to light, succinct moaning sounds that were issued from her taunt, tantalizingly pink mouth.

Jaime felt at once that he should dart away, and yet every ounce of his being remained rooted to the spot, watching the specter.

She caressed herself again and again, moaning louder each time, though it might have been compounded by the blood pounding through his ears.

She was the image of beauty, of youth, and of willfulness that could not be thwarted. Her fire sparked bright and fiery, and Jaime found himself hard within moments, not caring that the vision he saw was in fact of his own flesh and blood.

He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling the rush of blood leaving his face and filling his cock. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Cersei licking her own juices off of her dainty fingertips.

"_Jaime…" _she moaned.

Jaime's breath caught in his throat. He found it suddenly hard to swallow.

She breathed hard, building a rhythm, licking her lips and moaning.

"_Jaime…"_ she said again, her fingers finding her sweet spot. She bit her succulent lips.

Tears streamed down Jaime's face.


	13. Chapter 13

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Jaime tried, with some success, to keep his activities well out of Cersei's fastidious line of sight. Conversely, he could not avoid certain obvious keynotes to the day; they ate together most mealtimes, and they were tutored together on the subjects they shared. For the most part, however, Jaime had said little to Cersei since he had glimpsed her intoxicating body that warm spring night.

Flashes of paralyzing images of that event would maneuver their way into his thoughts, even when he was, for instance, mid-swing, aiming a perfect head shot in the practice yard. Tawny, flawless skin diluted his concentration and fostered a feeling of ineptitude within himself, causing him to stumble or make a mistake. Usually when he was with a partner, punishment included a fair amount of ribbing and teasing. Afterwards, he would shake himself mentally and go forth with the work, which for the most part, kept him sane.

But it was difficult. And he had the undesirable inclination that he was only delaying the inevitable.

One fateful day, his algebra tutor had called upon Cersei to help him rectify the mathematical equation he was working on. She had knelt beside him and as her fingers pointed to the appropriate method, he had smelled the warm jasmine scent of her hair, and saw her blooming breasts like beacons igniting a siren call within him.

"Got it," he had mumbled, looking away.

"Is that right?" she asked, standing, towering over him. A beat. "What did I say to do after you substitute the value of x over y?" she challenged.

"Umm," he looked back at his paper, unsure.

"That is what you need to be learning!" their math tutor, a very slender, pointy man of forty years, interjected; his hooked nose seemed to sashay as he tottered over to their desks.

"Do it again," the tutor urged, "and this time, I don't want to see any mistakes. There should be no reason you can't solve the problem exactly like Cersei." So, with due diligence, she had bent down beside him again and told him how to work it through, gesturing to the right methodology. This time, Jaime miserably tried to avoid staring too overtly at her chest.

As he was leaving class, he used a large book to cover his manhood, which had begun to rebel against him in a most unsporting fashion. Even after Cersei had sat back at her desk, he was filled to the brim with thoughts of her, and the tightening in his trousers grew to be nigh unbearable.

He was lucky Cersei hadn't seen him in that state, or else the embarrassment might have never ended.

Several uneventful days had passed since then, and his strange, embarrassing fantasies, coupled with inordinate amounts of hormones, continued to wreak havoc on his usually sensible thoughts.

In the here and now, he was at the dinner table, waiting for Tyrion and Cersei to arrive, having finished horseback-riding not more than fifteen minutes ago in an attempt to wile away the afternoon hours. As a result, he was starving. Jaime reached out for the loaf of bread on the table, but, thinking that dinner would arrive soon, reneged on the idea.

From the sound of Cersei complaining loudly, he could tell that his brother and sister were just down the hall.

"… I want pearls in my hair when father arrives back home, and I don't want the homely pearls that mother chose for me when I was but a babe," she sat down, still talking to their nanny.

"I want the most iridescent tiny pearls that can be had, strings and strings of them, so I can wind them through my hair and braid. And tiny white ribbons as well, for my sleeves. But no bows, I'm not a child any longer," she reminded them all with a huff.

"I will see about it, my lady, but you know your father doesn't want you to be overly spoiled."

"You will see?" Cersei narrowed her eyes.

"As my lady wishes," the servant bowed and walked away.

This time it was Jaime's turn to narrow his eyes. "A little harsh, sweet sister."

Cersei pouted, and then thought better of it. "No one dictates to me," she answered haughtily.

Jaime shrugged. "I hope you find much happiness in that." He reached for the bread.

Cersei rolled her eyes and laid her cheek on her hand. "I wonder what dinner will be tonight," she mused.

Jaime couldn't help but observe that his sister was looking exquisite tonight. Her breasts were practically bursting from her lively green gown, and her curls still childishly poked from her ladylike hairnet. Her cheeks were flushed from arguing, giving her a glowing look. Jaime's cheeks grew hot, too, simply thinking about her.

"I'm hungry." She said to no one in particular.

Tyrion had brought his book to the table, and in an effort not to get sneered at or argued with by his older sister, sought solace in _The History of Nymphs of the Wood_, which sounded very boring and possibly uninformative to Jaime.

The first course was salad, with beets and sourdough croutons. The second course was duck coated in honey, with greens and mashed potatoes besides. It was delicious, and he and Cersei marveled at the crispy texture of the skin.

For dessert, honey drizzled over fresh ice, accented with sage. It gave Jaime a nice, cleansing feeling. Tyrion in particular had an abundance of things to say about the dessert, and all agreed that it had hit the spot.

After dinner, the children adjourned to their respective rooms. Jaime vanished into his soon enough, and began to take off his clothes piece by piece, first his shoes, then socks, then…

He looked up and saw Cersei. She laughed. "Come, brother, you look as though you'd seen a ghost!"

Thoughts unbidden began to flood his mind and he gulped. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing… I wanted to show you my new petticoats." She hiked her skirt up for only an instant.

"I didn't see them," Jaime interjected.

"Do you want to see them?" The question was pointed, obvious.

Jaime's eyes deadened. _How am I supposed to answer such a question? _He left his shoes on the floor and went to the bed, flopping down because he was tired.

"I am your twin," Cersei declared. "You have to see them. I commissioned them myself," she stated, climbing on the bed and standing over him.

"Why do you want to show me your petticoats?" Jaime asked, his tone numb, despite the desperate beating of his heart.

"Why shouldn't I want to? Yours should be an impersonal opinion." When Jaime's silence reigned for over half a minute, Cersei continued with her little show. She knelt down beside him and extended her legs. Jaime could see she wore very pale pink silk stockings.

"Has it occurred to you that I might not care what you wear beneath your clothes?" Jaime had summoned all his courage to say this.

Cersei merely blinked and absorbed the information as though it were merely a facet of the conversation, and not a fact to consider. As though she already knew. Leveling her emerald green eyes at him she gazed at him as she straddled him, gathering her skirts up so they were almost the only part of her touching him.

"Look." Cersei lifted the hem of her embroidered skirt. Jaime looked. The petticoats were frilly, white.

"They look…"

"Like all of my petticoats?" Cersei finished for him.

Jaime said nothing.

Cersei began to giggle, falling to the side of him, laughing. Jaime slowly turned several shades of crimson.

"Why would I commission petticoats, stupid?" She teased.

"But you wanted me to look at them!" Jaime replied, outraged.

Cersei gave him a funny look. It was funny because he had never seen her look at him like that before: it was as though she had a million things to say to him and could not say a single one.

Extending her hands, she gently cradled his face and kissed him ever so lightly on the lips.

Jaime felt himself becoming heated once more from the mere touch of her lips on his.

Giggling, Cersei ran out of the room. Jaime would have followed her, had all the blood not rushed out of his head and into other… parts of his body. Weakly, he tried to call after her, but, exhausted from her teasing and the strenuousness of the day, he turned over on the bed, onto his belly, and tried to quell the nervousness rising in tide over tide in the sea of his soul.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: This is a mature chapter. Please be forewarned. _

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Cersei laid a finger on her bodice and traced its nearly seamless lines up to her abundant bosom, her finger slowly traveling over the soft flesh of her breast and then to her neck, where she allowed it to hover. Her hand dropped down.

Cersei gazed at herself in the mirror and allowed her beauty, for a moment, to overwhelm every other sensory experience she infiltrated, absorbed in the way the light cast a glow around her.

Wearing a gown the color of blood-oranges, her bodice was loosely laced, the bow tied very sweetly over her bountiful breasts. Her soft, golden hair was gathered back in a certain undone fashion, with curls unfurling every which way down her back and over her front.

The image of youthful beauty, she was, beauty that had not been forsworn or compromised in any way, witnessed here, before the mirror.

In her reflection, she admired her young, slender, curvaceous form. She envisioned her prettiness as belonging to only one person.

She tried to avoid looking at the blush that bloomed on her cheeks

There was a hesitant knock on her door, and she half-expected it to be Jaime. When it wasn't, she was disappointed.

"What is it?" She asked the maidservant. The maidservant blinked several times before finding her composure once again. Cersei realized her tone must have been brusque.

"Master Jaime was requesting your presence down in the stables. He wanted to know if you wanted another lesson."

Instantly Cersei smiled. "Of course. Let me just get my riding boots."

Just as suddenly, she was down the stairs, running for the stables. Upstairs, she had not only procured her riding boots, but had laced her bodice tightly, so she could keep a sportsmanlike profile while she rode.

As she ran down the stairs and pivoted through the door in excitement, she couldn't help but feel another burst of happiness as soon as she saw her brother.

"Hello!" she greeted him, walking toward him. Jaime had a slightly dour expression on his usually charming face, and his choice of outfit, a blue ensemble of crushed velvet, was emblematic of his mood.

"Well, where are we going?" Cersei gifted him with an exquisite smile.

"I was thinking we could go to the forest to practice on your swordplay. After all, you're always after me to teach you more, right? I think it's a skill everyone should have." The last sentence was a necessary addendum, having been practiced in his head more than once, and sounding as such to boot.

"What good thinking you have, brother." Cersei complimented him, taking the reins of her horse from the stable and leading him out.

"Do you need any help up? Jaime asked as he saw her reach for the saddle.

"No, I know perfectly well how to handle myself," Cersei answered haughtily, putting her boot in the stirrup. But it seemed she did not have as good a handle on the saddle horn, and slipped quickly down to gravity. If Jaime hadn't been there to reach out and catch her, midair, she would have gone yelping to the ground.

"Oh," Cersei said. She was being held in his arms. An eternity passed. Cersei slowly lifted her emerald eyes to her brothers and found that he was breathing harder than normal, though her weight could not have been a strain. Jaime's searching eyes gazed back at her.

"Mistress Lannister?" A bedraggled stable hand had picked up her kerchief, which had fluttered to the ground. The spell broken, Jaime tenderly put her on the ground, where Cersei had the presence of mind to snatch the garment out of the man's hand.

With haste, Cersei easily hefted herself onto the horse again and kicked, leading the way for a merry chase to the woods.

Jaime swung onto his pale mare and followed her.

It was a good, hard, ride to the woods. The sun was still high in the sky, and the long, tall grasses brushed the underside of her boots as she pushed herself farther and faster into the glen where she and Jaime had previously practiced. By the time she arrived at her destination, her stallion was breathing hard. She led him to the small creek and held the reins while he drank.

Jaime was not that far behind, having made up the distance in the first five minutes, but seeing the clouds descend and gather, it made the moments span more slowly. It kept his mind thinking of the abstract, rather than the immediate. He experienced a sense of déjà vu.

When he saw Cersei in the grove, she was watering her horse. He smiled, thinking how idyllic she looked.

"Cersei," he said almost inaudibly. But she heard him, and turned around and went to him.

She found herself in his warm, safe arms, and found comfort there where there she had lost it some years ago.

"Remember when we used to hug? Without worrying about anything else?" She whispered into his neck. There was no agenda to her words, only Cersei at her most naked. She nestled into the crevice there, feeling his soft, balmy skin; feeling a sense of carefree that she had not allowed herself to feel in a long time, so preoccupied with ideas and rationale that had been alien to her when she was a child.

She noted that her brother did not stop her, said nothing. She was glad that he was wearing velvet, for it covered his muscles and made him feel soft yet strong in her arms.

"Yes," he finally answered. "When we were children, it cast our actions in a kind of innocence," he said, looking down on her.

Cersei looked down, and then looked back up at him. "What changed?"

"You know what changed," Jaime returned, smiling.

Cersei looked confused.

"We got older." Jaime confirmed.

"Our feelings stayed the same, it's only us that have changed." Cersei murmured. Part of him seemed frozen as he considered her words.

"You know I love you," Cersei continued.

"As your brother?" Jaime hesitated to say.

Cersei slowly shook her head, her eyes fastened to his. She could see some part of him reeling from her confession.

"I don't… understand what you are saying." He murmured, lying. His own voice was lost to his ears.

Cersei waited, feeling the frustration build inside of her.

"You're just my sister to me. You'll never be just a girl," he said, the words catching in his throat. Realizing that he still held her in his arms, he gently tried to disengage himself, trying not to hurt her, she who felt like she might break into a million pieces.

Slipping away like pieces of paper lost to the wind were her principles, the principles of her sex, of whatever she had clung to and all that was left were these… _feelings_, ideas of… feelings of…

Cersei was only silent.

"Is that so?" She said, her voice a mere whisper. She looked beautiful, standing there, Jaime couldn't help but observe; perhaps significantly, she was likely the most beautiful girl he would ever glimpse in his life.

Before he knew it, he was flat on his back on the ground, his feet having been kicked from beneath him, and his sister was quickly, easily, unlacing his breeches with nimble fingers.

"Cersei, wait, stop" he interjected with astonishment. Within moments his pants were open, and she had his organ in her hands. Closing her eyes, she placed her mouth on his member, and instantly he felt the warm, moist pressure of her mouth on him. He groaned, feeling the blood pump into his member.

"No, Cersei," he pleaded, struggling in his mind to reject the situation, even as his flesh was more than willing to succumb.

With skill, her mouth sucked on him, bringing him to his fullness. Her long, golden curls slipped down over her shoulders and onto his extended legs. Jaime moaned as he felt the head of his penis deep within the recesses of her throat.

She swallowed him again and again, feeling him within her, feeling her own desire burn and grow, become unbearable, become whole. Jaime became lost in ecstasy; he moaned, felt himself become close, feeling the insurmountable pleasure of her.

She sucked, as thought she wanted the flesh of him, his very sperm. Jaime felt himself enlarge even further, hard and alive inside her. He gauged her, his hand feeling for her chin, bringing her to look and him. She glowed with the action of pleasuring him, her cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, her lips wet and glistening. His cock slipped out of her mouth and glistened with her saliva. Jaime felt his heart beat wildly, and he was unable to comprehend thought.

Bringing him back in her mouth, she focused solely on his cock, licking and sucking him like he was candy. Jaime realized pure satisfaction and soon knew no more, exploding within her mouth. He distantly felt her suck every last droplet out of him.

When she was done, Cersei daintily wiped her mouth, and put him back inside his pants, lacing him up. Jaime was still, his eyes closed, lying on the ground, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Ever more in love with him, Cersei couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Delicately, she laid herself on his chest and closed her eyes.

Struggling to find the strength to sit up, Jaime was able to compose himself after a minute or so, resting on his elbows on the ground. Startled, Cersei looked up at him.

Tenderly, Jaime cupped her face in his hand. "Cersei, why?"

Tears started streaming down her face, but she did not shy away from his grasp. "Do you have to ask?"

Jaime closed his eyes and felt a swell of feeling rise and fall through him like waves crashing on a shore.

He just closed his eyes.

Later on that evening, he was surprised to find everything was, for the most part, back to normal.

He sat at the banquet table with his brother and sister and shared a quiet meal with them. When it was time to go to bed, he went to his room, adorning from the outside veranda, where he had watched the stars come out from behind the clouds and begin to sparkle, the backdrop ebbing from shades of scarlet and orange, to lavender and finally black.

He found Cersei in his bed, like a little lost child, her long curls strewn over his pillow, her normally catlike eyes closed and resting. A thin white silk sheath covered her body, so that when she stretched, one could presume to see the nakedness of her body. Jaime shuddered and closed the door.

Hearing the door shut, Cersei shivered awake and rubbed her eyes. "Jaime?" she said aloud. One of the straps of her gown fell to one side, and her shoulder was left bare.

"Cersei," he said, walking to her. Jaime took her hands in his. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I was lonely," she said apologetically. In recognition of this fact, Jaime sighed, and began readying himself for sleep. He wondered if Cersei was watching him disrobe.

He slid into bed beside her, not for the first time, and held her to him.

Sighing contentedly, Cersei lapsed into a deep sleep.

It was harder for Jaime to go to sleep, but eventually he was able to surrender himself to the dark shadows of dreams.


	15. Chapter 15

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Jaime and Cersei were riding in a carriage that would take them to Kings Landing.

Looking over at his sister, Jaime took a moment to bear through the burdensome visage of memories that weighed on him like an unwelcome guest, even as his sister was staring pleasantly enough at the distractions witnessed outside the window.

Sighing, he turned away and looked elsewhere, at the rolling hills and ponds that comprised the land outside of Kings Landing. The jousts had gone well enough, and his father seemed pleased enough that his son was the youngest man ever granted knighthood, though now it appeared as though he was strained under increasing pressure from King Aerys for indistinct reasons. Though he and Cersei were old enough, they gleaned more from the servants (with a few well-placed gold coins to aid the flow of information) than he was able to achieve through an ordinary conversation with his father.

There had been speak of an alliance between Cersei and Rhaegar, but that was now all past, and had been for years now. But once Cersei had her heart set on something, even the truth of a binding reality without the wanted item was hard to break, so bright was her fire. During his tourneys, including the one at Harrenhal, Cersei had been drawn to Rhaegar like a moth to his dark purple flame.

Even though Rhaegar Targaryen already possessed a wife and some children, she still seemed completely besotted with him, entranced with his perpetual alacrity, watching him from her perch on her balcony. Later in the evening, whatever grand hall they were in, she could be found listening to the strains of his faintly interesting poetry, which he only performed extremely infrequently under duress, brought about through the interested pleas of the ladies of the court.

And Cersei, in her fine dresses, and shoes of silk, far finer than any of the ladies had any right to be, was at the center of it all. Pushing his hair from his eyes, he had seen the way she was looking at him, even from his standing position, hundreds of yards away on one end of the jousting field. It had made him angry, and all the more compelled to achieve a win by practically any means possible—even if his rival died on that field the very same day. Death, in its inevitability, and the means used to bring it about, began to connect in a very cruel and distinct way.

She wore lilies and pearls in her flowing flaxen hair, loosely braided as though to tempt the wind to unwind the treasure of her hair; it wound around her shoulder and down her chest, which swelled with every protracted breath due to the constraining nature of her corset.

Even as he wanted to gulp and chastise himself, the guilt, the damnable guilt motivated him and his jealousy. In his darkest moments, he felt like he was broken, like shards of himself were crushed with every thought of her; her leaning down over his desk, her looking up at him from his lap, her laughing, laughing at him.

Ladies, like flowers, appeared before him soon after a good match in the jousting field.

"Lord Lannister, if I may beg a word?" a very pretty russet-haired lass once asked of him, stepping into his path, though he was soaked with blood and grim from the dirt field of the tourney. He had only smiled and given her a bauble, one he kept on his person like a token. He had hundreds of them. Very recently the wealth of the Lannister household had begun to overflow into his cup and he was saturated with rubies and diamonds and most of all, and more damning than the rest of it, gold. But he was still in the midst of it all, and so he kept his pretty grin, and enjoyed the victories when they came, for they, like the countless baubles, were continuously present.

Cersei never was able to keep friends, because, for whatever, reason, they fell away like wilting flowers in the way of her childish cruelty and facile games. She was undoubtedly—well, as least he was certain— a good person, but when she, for instance, compared a friend unfavorably to a grape, or sent one on a errand that could never be completed (fetching rare _pink_ lavender sprigs for her hair), it almost seemed like she was experimenting with what she could get away with.

Such behavior necessitated the conclusion that she had achieved being the center of attention, but to those who knew her, she was girlishly unsavory. Jaime was always by her side, complimenting her, invariably understanding her, and maybe even laughing at her latest antic.

She was compelling, and she scarcely knew it, which was surprising to Jaime most of all.

But he knew her, knew her innately, like he knew the beating of his heart, or the breath in his lungs, keeping him alive. And while he didn't think of her _that _way, he did think of her a lot of ways.

It was wholly new, this embodiment of her as a sexual being, but it struck a chord with him when he saw her flouncing all over the somewhat foppish Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Perhaps he wasn't being completely fair in his interpretation of the Prince, but when Cersei was in his company, he didn't particularly desire to stick around. So thus he didn't have a precisely accurate conveyance of the Prince through his natural attitude, but then… to Jaime it seemed to be no great loss.

And… perhaps she wasn't flouncing. Beyond the ordinary characteristics that had begun to sharpen and dilute by turn, was the fact that Cersei was not normally interested in much beyond the daily power struggles she had with her family and tutors and beyond that, her careful awareness of her maturing beauty. She was growing up.

Watching her from his vantage up close or even from afar, he comprehended that she had developed a mean streak that laced her intelligent quips with something like cunning. He could fathom how it was probably very exciting for any bystander who was not on the receiving end of her punishing verbal lashing.

Yet on the other side of the equation, it was not as though Jaime were completely innocent either. When he was standing next to her, and she decided to deliver a cruel joke, even though part of him wanted to hide, the more arch side of him wanted to stick around and see what happened. Cersei brought out a part of him that relished the more depraved. It was a side that was just begging to come out, and watching his slightly older sister be rude was kind of interesting; stimulating. And he loved to laugh with her.

It was this more debauched side of him that arose, like a venomous cobra emerging from hibernation, after he made his first kill on the field. The memory was not a wanted one, so he shifted it from his mind as soon as he could, but not without leaving the most visual remnants behind: blood, the man's chest obliterated, the cries of his wife.

It was hard for him to sleep after that.

His father had clasped him to him and told him he had done well.

Sir Barristan told him not to worry, and that he had killed plenty of men in his day, and that it was simply part of being a knight.

Cersei had just blinked and come to his side when he told her about it, his voice cracking.

"People die," she said, putting her hands to either side of his face. "You don't get out of this life alive," she said, looking into his eyes.

His ears rung with the truth of her words, and he placed his hands, possessing only a slight tremor, to hers, where he felt the warm of her hands on his face and beneath his fingertips. Pulsing, he felt the moment shatter any preconceived notions of life and death he had lately held close to his breast.

After that, it was with more assurance, that when they were walking together he would catch her hand and they would turn and look at each other with that selfsame sense of knowing. He would always remember the man's death on that day, but it had stung less since she had given him that lasting piece of advice.

It became easier to just accept her, and she him. They became, with every touch and glance, as inseparable as they had always been.

Today, they were journeying to King's Landing after their father had requested the presence of his children. When King Aerys had asked why, he was given the diplomatic reason that it was for all the traditional reasons a father might want to see their children when they are coming of age.

There was certain buoyancy to the moment; a feeling that caused a bounce in one's step that was as incorrigible as it was undeniable. Cersei had felt it and succumbed to the cheerfulness of the moment, and Jaime was just now coming around, having felt and ascertained his status and been satisfied with what he found.

Jaime and Cersei left the carriage together and were somewhat astonished to find that they were finally in the place called the "Red Keep".

"Something tells me that I belong here," Cersei uttered playfully, smiling at him and twirling her hair between her long fingers.

"Then that means I belong here too," Jaime joined, grasping her hand and twirling her. She fit very well in his arms, and when he grasped her to him, they fell into a little dance they had learned from one of their interchangeable dance tutors. With her skirts twirling, and them laughing with the pleasant exertion, it became a very magical moment.

Having turned sixteen recently, the young couple looked very much like young people in the sunrise of their adulthood.

"What if I was queen? Wouldn't that be wonderful?" she whispered, like it was a secret.

Still dancing with her, Jaime smiled and decided it sounded like a marvelous idea. "I think you're very ambitious, and I happen to like that."

"You're not ambitious, though," she looked at him through the veil of her eyelashes, as though judging him.

"No, I'm not. I like fighting, being a knight. It suits me."

"Then you can't play with me."

"I can always play with you," he replied, thinking of yesteryear, when they would play in their game room together.

"I mean politics, of course. Assuming I get to be queen, anyway," she confirmed wistfully, sliding through his arms in another turn.

"Cersei," he stopped the movement and looked into her eyes. "I believe you can do anything."

"Stop being so nice to me," she replied. "I'll start to trust you, and then where will we be?"

Jaime laughed.

Something caught her eye over his shoulder, and Cersei pulled him aside, next to one of the pillars.

"Look there," she said, pointing to a two men taking deep strides away from the main doors of the keep.

"They're taking those horses away," she murmured, and they witnessed two horses with Stark wolf banners being taken off the property.

Jaime was surprised Cersei cared enough to be observant of such things, but was nonetheless intrigued.

They moved from their position behind the pillar. There was a sense of uneasiness that weighed on them, as though something momentous had happened and that they were in the thick of the moment.

They decided mutually to go to the throne room and see what the commotion could be.

The atmospheric change was dramatic, for as the youths' eyes' were adjusting, the people inside the large room were either gossiping or arguing, and it seemed like the King had just recently left, though the courtiers remained.

"—I couldn't imagine Prince Rhaegar doing something like this—"

"—Is it true, what he said?"

"Completely out of character…"

"I can't imagine what will come of this…"

The voices rose in a cacophony, and people with worried expressions began to leave.

By this time, the twins had gathered the truth of what had just occurred: Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna Stark. And from what had just occurred, Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark, the eldest son, were being cuffed and brought to the cells below.

Just then, Tywin spotted his children out of the corner of his eye, and the departing people parted for the father to be reunited with his children.

"Hello children," he said, and hugged them as formally as he could, betraying how much he had missed them in the process.

"Come, let me show you where you'll be staying," he said, escorting them to one side of the hall.

"Something bad is happening. Are those two men going to be tortured?" Cersei demanded.

Though Tywin said nothing, and looked straight ahead, his silence confirmed what she had said. Cersei sent Jaime a look of dread, and he mirrored her look.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Note: For a great way to get in the mood to read this, check out this vid I found recently on Youtube. You can find it if you type in the search engine "Jaime Cersei Bedroom Hymns". It's by BlackieBrens, and it's absolutely fabulous! A great song by Florence and the Machine set to wonderful visuals. Absolutely spellbinding. Please enjoy!_

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Some time had passed.

On the rare, defining occasions when Jaime sought across a crowded table to look into Cersei's languorous green eyes, framed as they were by her long golden lashes, she would, but with but a slight turn of her head, gaze back into his with the same resolute constancy, their shared glance confirming what they already knew: that each had the other's best interests at heart, and, distrustful of others, the glint indicated what needed to be said within the heartbeat of a moment. Being that they were twins, it was very easy to communicate that way, and indelibly useful.

The whispers were true. There was an uprising coming and it was coming for the Mad King.

Jaime was not remorseful of this fact—in his short time at Kings Landing he had learned far more than he needed to about the Mad King's ways, particularly about the way he treated his enemies, and even how atrociously he treated those he marked his friends. The old Targaryen was not a good king, evidenced by his actions, his unlikely ill-humor, and what seemed like the perpetual flow of evil from his wrathful heart.

Caring naught for going over his current circumstances in his head, Jaime instead tried to distract himself by imagining the best way to cut someone's head off if they were coming at him from the rear, but it ended up being a fruitless question, as he already knew the answer by heart, having practiced the remedy many times.

Inevitably, he grew bored, isolated, and angry.

Sir Barristan hadn't made him the youngest knight to wear the white for nothing, as his skills were refined and varied, but unmistakably the Mad King's animosity for his father certainly had something to do with the progression as well. It had been the Mad King's idea, and Cersei, one broken stolen night, had agreed that it was a good idea, as it would keep them together.

He did not desire to part from Cersei, who grew even more entrancing everyday, as though she were absorbing the beauty of all around her and retaining it for her own—he did not desire to part from her not only because of the irresistible tug she gave on his emotions, but because she was someone he knew he could trust, and besides his father and his little brother, (neither of whom were nearly half as interesting) he was loathe to part from her for that redeeming facet of her personality. She always said love makes you weak, but it hadn't stopped her from loving him yet.

It was strange that their relationship could be so complicated. Now, he was her best friend, laughing with her at someone else's folly, telling her the latest gossip over his shoulder as though it were crucially defining and yet utterly trivial; it was telling both of his new approach to court life, and his newfound sardonic streak. His circumstances did much to make him ironic.

The irony of his situation, that he was the guardian of a man who cruelly derided others who sought only to serve him best, was not lost on him.

He, Jaime, had watched the same two men who had entered the cells his first day in King's Landing, _roast_ in what could only be the most grotesque display of power and authority he had ever been summoned to witness. The curl of his lip that he had obtained that day had still not left his expression, and neither had the lost, forsaken look in his eye.

When he had returned to his twin, he had gathered her in his arms, such as she was, her perfect, hard little body fitting perfectly in his muscled arms, and had held her against her will until she swore that unless he let her go she would begin to scream.

Then he had let her go and had bequeathed to her his casual, callous grin, and pretended like nothing had happened.

She had watched him go, walking away from her, down the hallway, and had the profound sensation that she was completely dissatisfied with this new side of Jaime.

Later, she had given him a piece of her mind, not that it mattered, for the ringing in his ears echoed with the screams of father and son Stark.

It all threw into sharp contrast how sweet even Cersei's screams had become to him, so strange and maddening this new reality had become.

People departed and gathered like frightened fish before a summer storm. Rebellion was in the air, and he almost thirsted to be on the front line of it all. If Cersei had not held his sword hand, he would have gone for war himself, but there were _obligations_, damnable _responsibilities_. He was a lion, he was not bound for sitting and waiting—he needed to be in the midst of the fight, directing, ordering, taking aim.

Such as it was, the quiet was more telling than the tumult.

"Stop being stupid," she once murmured to him.

"What are you talking about? You asked me to stay here. You have no idea what I'm protecting you from. You don't want to know," he spat.

"Then why don't you tell me? I think I might be able to help you if I did," she said, her offer more tempting than she realized.

"What do you think?" He said. Then, in a furious rage, he grabbed her arm and gathered her against the side of the room.

"Would a kiss satisfy you?" he countered, his being full of her perfume, her moods, her angelic looks.

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and tried not to think about it. She knew what there was between them.

"If a kiss satisfied me, why would I ask you for more?" she said in answer, her voice building.

"You 're just a wench," he reminded her. Before he knew it, her hand came out of nowhere and slapped him.

"The next time you call me a wench you won't be so lucky to leave the room with only a red cheekbone," she threatened, waving her finger in the air, hastening her exit from the room with her gathered skirts in hand.

It was now a confirmed reality that the string of clandestine kisses and strangely enticing interactions between the two of them had now formed a common thread that bound them together, for better or worse, in a way that was both devastating and spellbinding—undeniable.

He forced the gold strands of his hair out of his eyes and likewise stormed out of the room, the plate of his metal armor clanging.

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.

There was no easy way of conveying that he wanted the king dead. When he found an opportunity to commit the crime, it was done, as cleanly and precisely as he had ever dreamed.

His father's soldiers had been marching against King's Landing, in what could only be interpreted as the ultimate betrayal—he smirked, thinking of how they had knocked on the doors, requesting to be let in, as only the King's Hand's reinforcements could be—and sacked the very place they were drawn in to protect.

And then, when Aerys had been murmuring, rattling off the same words over and over, almost like a mantra, "burn them all," he had finally felt the true fear that slices through the heart, knowing that he could stop it all, end it, then and there, prevent death when all this man, this Targaryen wanted was burning, endless burning.

His father. Cersei. Tyrion. He could save them all, stop the senseless dying that he had been exposed to in the most brutal way since he had arrived at King's Landing.

He was going to kill the man he was sworn to protect; the King.

When the sword went in, it was like pressing a butter knife through that same prescribed animal fat—and when it was done, he felt the kind of jolly that follows killing an awesome tyrant. The King was dead. His neurotic, crumpled form slumped down, blood pooling on the floor like proof, documentation of what had been done. The old man opened his mouth in a silent scream, and then, slowly, the life drained out of him, the droplets of blood like years in time that would never arrive for this mad, dreadful man.

Later, he would consider it his finest act.

When the accolades didn't come, the ricochets arrived like a shock. All of the praise that had been heaped upon him for all his triumphs now came to a full, devastating circle.

Glares, evil eyes, curses, divined words, and shunted actions all came his way—like, he supposed, they were supposed to, even if he hadn't expected them fully, in the folly of his youth.

After the king was dead, he had sat on the Iron Throne, just to see what it felt like. Any trace of reverence he could have formed for that king, that dead king on the steps, his mad eyes finally closed, was gone as soon as he sat on the throne. It wouldn't have been so hard to rule, he surmised, if he had ever had any ambition for it. In fact, in order to be a better king than Aerys, all he would have to have done was not go crazy and become a tyrant. Easier said than done, but he was remarkably sure that the course of his rule would hypothetically run far smoother.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

Lannisters for Kings. He would never give his father the satisfaction.

When they found him sitting there, and asked him who would rule, abundantly hinting with gusto that the title should be his, he merely said, "let's wait," enigmatically.

If Cersei had been allowed to be there, she would have seethed like the little noblewoman she was, until she could sequester him and pester him with predictable questions that he surely had no inclination to answer, at least in any satisfactory way.

He would turn his back on the ambitions of his family, his white cloak spotted with Targaryen blood, and, subservient only to his undermining desires, serve to usher the next, undecided king to the iron throne. Now, whoever could say that he wasn't polite?

Maybe he was still afraid of the ghost of that old terrible man, but at least he could take some pride in the fact that he had been the one to kill that evil bastard, and that the burden could rest solely on him.

He could take it.

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.

.

Cersei twirled in front of the mirror, beholding her face and form from all possible aspects—she found herself pleased, in spite of being displeased with practically everything else. Her hair was a disciplined, tapering riot of golden curls, falling down her back in an almost peasant-like fashion.

The dress was a demure shade of periwinkle, to bring out the youthful freshness of her pale skin, the roses in her cheeks. Personally, she much preferred the vibrancy of crimson, but she supposed she could make a compromise for the first meeting she was to have with Robert Baratheon. Lace frills oozed out of the cuffs of her sleeves, and ornately decorated her pointed collar, the pearl buttons that traipsed down her front. She looked her age, even if this recently ended war made her feel easily ten years older.

She felt mixed about her appearance. Should she show more of her cleavage? Cersei had heard that the new king was quite the salacious suitor, a righteous soldier who had been at the helm of it all, his emotions worn like a cloak on the eve of battle.

Rumors swirled around him like smoke from a fire, rumors of his depravity, of the ferocity of his attacks, of his loyal friendship with Eddard Stark, and finally, most telling of all, of his devotion to the dead girl, Lyanna Stark.

They had called her the "_Winter Rose_." Or was it the "_Rose of Winter_"? The frivolity of such a title appealed not at all to Cersei. When this newfound situation boiled down to the most crucial details, those details became that meeting Robert Baratheon and convincing him that she was the only suitable queen, and only proper counterpart—was the most important power play of all. Everything else could remain still for a moment.

This meeting would set the precedent for everything to come. The anticipation of it all breathed palpable excitement in the air. She forced herself to focus.

Surely some dead girl wouldn't ruin her chances of enforcing a strong impression of herself.

Jaime had gloomily been haunting her room, saying nothing, but implying much, asking far more than she was prepared to relinquish as far as her own thoughts, her ambition coming to the fore.

There was no electricity in the air in these few sad moments, for they gave way to her expressing a sort of pride over being in such a position of authority, _finally_, due to her birth, beauty, age, and, of course, the convenience of being in the right place at the right time. There were none half so beautiful as she, and she was beginning to know it, clever girl that she was. All her time primping and preening in the mirror had given way to knowing how to exact precisely the right look for every occasion; how to glower cutely, how to cast her eyes aside in a moment of seeming uncertainty, how to move her arms together over her chest, so her ample bosom overflowed from the straining lace of her tightly-gathered bodice. These overlooked aspects were all crucial in conveying her authority, and obviously she was smart enough to use the few powers left to her by right of sex.

Today she would wear something pretty and discerning, but maybe next time she would not portray herself so sweetly. Next time she would show a little more of herself—perhaps literally. The thought caused her to acquire quite a sinister smirk.

A knock at the door. "My lady, are you ready?" a female voice inquired. The door opened a crack, to reveal Cersei standing next to the bed, composed as ever, and now ready for the task.

"Yes, please take me to the hall," she replied, striding toward the maid.

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.

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She was escorted to the throne room, which had changed dramatically since she last saw it. The dragon skulls, normally on display, were now hidden; either crushed or destroyed, she surmised. Their removal made the scene more stark—she could now see the hues of gold and russet that adorned the halls—the basins of flames flickered on, as ever before.

As she walked down the expansive hall, she knew that she would be a sight, bejeweled and adorned as she was, however subtly. With measured guile, She would draw him in looking like his fair lost love, and entangle him in her own furtive web.

A gathering of men stood talking in the middle of the room. One of them she recognized as Ned Stark of Winterfell; he was a man of great power and influence, and now particularly so, as he was recognized as the closest friend and ally of the newly crowned king, Robert Baratheon.

The man standing next to him was a great giant of a man, with a full head of coal-black hair, and blue eyes that shone like enigmatic lights when they flashed upon her. When she became close enough, she cast her eyes down in the most dutiful fashion she knew, and curtseyed deeply.

Among the group of men had been her father, deep in conversation with the new king. He now stepped forward and introduced her, his voice an airy weight of authority and majesty.

"Your Highness, I would like to introduce my only daughter, Cersei." He extended his hand for her to grasp, and she curtseyed, lifting her skirts with her other hand. It was a symbolic gesture, that she was his treasured possession, and by connecting their hands, they were joined, she with him, he with her.

The great giant of a king stepped forward. His eyes flashed upon her, absorbing every detail, from her purposefully modest bodice, to the color of her gown, which she had foolishly hoped would transform her eyes into a more subtle shade of hazel, but which remained, as ever, catlike and emerald, as was her heritage.

Jaime, who happened to be passing through on his way to the stables, saw this exchange, though he had tried to avoid seeing it at all. But being that he now watched from the shadows, he was loath to miss the sight.

He was still in the bad graces of the public, and did not wear the Kingsguard white anymore, his privileges having been revoked. Since the white had not meant much while he wore it, it meant even less taking such meaningless clothing off. He wore aged clothes, being on his way to escape the travails of court life by practicing his sword swing. At least he could display some utility while his fate was being pondered by the Arryns and Baratheons of the court.

And now he saw his sister being whored out to the new king. Being 'whored', the verb was not a term he used lightly (or at least attempted to use lightly) but the exchange was, if anything, a display of his father's finest treasure to the King, who was, in this sense, a merchant.

She looked radiant. Beaming.

"Cersei," the King said, testing out her name, speaking it aloud. He took the hand that Tywin handed him and kissed it.

Jaime's blood boiled, his heart thumping in his throat.

Part of him wanted to run, but the larger part of him remained rooted to the spot, wishing to see the contender for his sister's love. _If there even is such a thing…_ he reminded himself dryly.

"It has been a long time since we last saw each other," Cersei murmured softly, her voice the very sound of a soothing bell chiming in the darkness.

"Yes, and I don't think we were ever properly introduced," the King confirmed. He still had not let go of her hand.

Jaime noticed this, and his eyes fastened to the shared grasp.

"Well, I suppose I'll leave you two to become better acquainted," Tywin said smoothly, ushering himself and the other men out of the room. Jaime hid behind a pillar while the men strode away, into the bowels of the Red Keep.

The two shared words, and Cersei gave a little cordial laugh.

Jaime's cheeks heated. _Why do I feel so jealous? She has not given herself to me, except in rare moments of confused ecstasy… _The mere thought made all his feelings all the more confounded.

He began rethinking everything, as only a jealous suitor could, reevaluating their exchanges, her retorts. But at the end of his thoughts always came the conclusion, _but she loves __**me**_.

In that moment, as though a cello were resounding a crucial, dire note, Jaime lost all his wits and fell for her as a man drowning in the deepest depths of the wide blue sea, the shackle of his love acting like a weight on his ankles, drawing him deeper and deeper down into the abyss.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: A short, but nonetheless titillating chapter. I wanted you guys to know that I'm still working on this beautiful little story. Enjoy….

"What are you thinking about?" Cersei asked him abruptly.

He had been staring outside the window for a long time, and it was his twin sister's abrupt interruption that had been the only reminder that he was not just, and only, lost in time.

She still grasped her silver spoon in hand, as she sat opposite him at the small table in the study. More often, they took their meals in there, away from all other distractions, save the inevitable distraction of each other. It was welcome; as Jaime had lost interest in much, safe her, much to his chagrin.

She still sat there, studying him, when he found the words to rebut her break in his reverie. When he looked over at her, it was hard not to compare her to that little girl who had been so forthrightly ambitious, lost in her own created intrigue, so beautiful, and so heartbreakingly young. They had both been that young, once.

But he found that she, oh that most striking and ambivalent she, had grown more subtly beautiful with the passage of time. He was not one to linger on such trivialities, but it was unavoidable, when one was opposite one so unrivaled in her natural ornamentation.

Yes, time had been good to her. Even bearing children had been good to her. Her hair was even more thick and lustrous, her eyes more shaded with mystery and intelligence, and her mouth lingeringly full of pouty, provocative words. She would probably always be this way, even as time passed and her charms ebbed and waned. But here, now, he could see that she would always be striking, always age well. And as he compared her to that most impetuous sixteen year old, he found he actually preferred the older, less tempestuous version of her, if only because she had become more honest and forthright. And, not to mention, she had become lovelier in his eyes.

"You," he answered honestly, and almost wished he had a swig of whiskey handy.

"You're thinking of me?" she laughed, nonetheless charmed.

"Why are you thinking about me?" she asked, intrigued. She was baited in his net, and now it was his turn to catch her.

"Oh," he pretended to play with an imaginary piece of lint on the table. When he caught her eye, it was with the same magnetic presence women's hearts beat faster, and men's sword hands' tighten—a prowess he neither noticed or accepted, which made him all the more absorbing. Cersei did, however, observe this, if only because she was faintly narcissistic. He was, after all, born after her image.

But his flashing green eyes and easy smile did wonders on any person with sight.

"I'm thinking of you for a myriad of reasons. One, your collar is slightly askew. Second, you've dribbled some porridge on your left breast, and, most grievously," he paused, for significance.

Cersei's eyes narrowed as she sought to adjust the perceived wrongs. There was, after all, porridge on her front.

"You seem to be completely infatuated with your twin brother. I'm afraid it's an appalling oversight on your part."

Flustered, she seemed beyond words.

"Cat caught your tongue? I so apologize. It's just that, I'm afraid; your social standing will be tremendously affected. Also, it's just bad breeding. You might say 'inbreeding' is actually the correct word."

Leisurely, but with all due alacrity, he came to her side, looking every inch the gallant gentle lord. With one hand he gently brushed her feather-soft cheek while she gazed at him, faintly appalled.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul. In fact, your little trouble is doubly to my credit, for you see, I'm in love with my twin sister, even though she is a shrew."

Stung, Cersei fought to find the words to verbally thrash him, but was hypnotized by her brother's frightfully well-worded study.

"You-!" She began.

"Shh." He said. A gold strand of hair caught the light and flashed between his mesmerizing green eyes.

"Don't try," he said, sealing her lips with a smoldering kiss.

And she didn't.


End file.
